


The Eagle and the Star

by herald0fmanwe, silmarilz1701



Series: The Fëanoriel Chronicles [8]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Feanoriel Chronicles Series, Fourth Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 37,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14192916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herald0fmanwe/pseuds/herald0fmanwe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarilz1701/pseuds/silmarilz1701
Summary: Third Short Story in The Fëanoriel Chronicles.More than half a century after Gandalf's return to Valinor, Manwë and Varda's newest emissaries must aid the Free Peoples of Middle Earth in their own ways - one small adventure at a time.  Concurrent with Flight to the East, this story mostly concerns events in Aragorn's domain during the Prince's absence.Updates every Monday until complete starting April 2, 2018.





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, Silz and herald0fmanwe here. Welcome to the first of herald0fmanwe's Feanoriel Chronicles short stories. This one takes place concurrent with Flight to the East, my (Silz) fifth Feanoriel Chronicles main story. Unlike the Silz-written short stories, these ones by herald0fmanwe are meant to be read alongside the main series and these characters will crossover and vice versa with mine. Nevertheless, the story is enjoyable by itself, so have at it!

**The Eagle and the Star**

**by heraldofmanwe**

* * *

_"I will say this: the rule of no realm is mine, neither of Gondor nor any other, great or small. But all worthy things that are in peril as the world now stands, those are my care."_

_\- Gandalf, Return of the King, JRR Tolkien_

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Lost and Found**

* * *

"But you still haven't answered my question: where are you from?" asked the hobbit.

"I've lived too many places to say I am  _from_  anywhere," replied Elerína.

"But why come to Bree?" inquired the hobbit.

"It's a lovely town," she answered with a smile. The poor hobbit meandered back to his table, no closer to unravelling the mystery of Bree's strangest visitors. No one had stirred up as much rumor and conjecture in the Bree lands as Elerína and her companion Thorongil since Mr. Underhill and company passed through Bree and took up with Strider a half century prior.

Everyone had their own theories as to who they were. Most thought they were nobles from an elven land, the most cited being Lorien or Rivendell, with the Grey Havens and Mirkwood being occasionally mentioned by more knowledgeable folk. Why they were in Bree was far less agreed upon: some said they were eloping, or on honeymoon, others that they were spies, some that they were outcasts, and a few thought that they were simply looking for someplace quiet to live, away from the troubles of the wider world.

Suddenly a man burst into the inn, interrupting the mirth and merriment of the hall. He was clearly in distress. From his voice and appearance it was obvious something serious was afoot.

"Help," he cried, "we must search the Downs!"

He was at once barraged with obvious questions. What was he talking about, and more importantly, what did the Barrow Downs have to do with it? Everyone in Bree knew that nothing good ever came from the Downs.

After everyone had a chance to calm down the situation became clear - the man's son Percy, only twelve years old, had last been seen playing near the Barrow Downs around noon. Percy's father had spent at least six hours searching for him to no avail until night began to fall. Realizing it would do more harm than good to stay on the Downs at night, he ran as fast as he could to The Prancing Pony. It was now seven at night and he hoped beyond hope that someone there would be willing to brave the cursed hills to search for his son.

None of the locals said a word. Everyone stared uneasily at their food, or glanced from table to table to see who might volunteer. There was one Ranger present, but he was too old for such an adventure. The town guard were good men, but a thousand years of horrifying legends told them not to set foot on the Downs after dark. There was a party of dwarves, but they were merchants and craftsmen with no experience doing anything of this sort. That left Elerína and Thorongil.

Without a word to anyone Thorongil got up and left the public hall to go to his room. Elerína went to speak with Percy's father. All the Bree-landers sighed in relief that someone was going to try to help, and doubly so that it would not have to be one of their own.

Thorongil soon returned dressed in the greens and browns of a ranger with a sword at his side and a bow on his back. More than one hobbit marveled at the hilt of his sword - silver and gold with countless jewels set along the pommel and crossguard. If ever there was a weapon to fight wights and spectres, they thought this must be it.

"I'll get the horses," said Thorongil to Elerína.

"Horses won't set foot on the Downs at noon, let alone after dark," cautioned the old Ranger from his table.

"Mine will," replied Thorongil gruffly, stepping outside.

"But thanks for the warning," added Elerína politely as he lead Percy's father out into dark streets the Bree.

As soon as they left, Sal Ferny stood up.

"Anyone want to bet on whether they return, and whether the boy comes back with them?" she asked the room. She knew there would be takers, and she could make a tidy little profit running the pool. There was nothing illegal about betting in Bree, and it didn't bother her what 'respectable folk' thought about taking bets on whether men, women, and even a child would be alive come dawn the next day.

Outside the inn, Elerína tried to comfort Percy's father. He was understandably distraught and wanted to go with them to help in any way he could. Elerína was quite against that, ostensibly because he would only slow them down.

Suddenly Thorongil came riding up to them on his great black horse. Elerína's snow white steed came galloping up moments later. The horses looked almost as out of place in Bree as their riders - they both were more suited to a cavalry charge than a plow.

"I can not promise that we will find your son alive," said Elerína, mounting her horse, "but I promise we will find him. I will not say 'do not be afraid,' for I know such council would be vain. I will instead point out the clear sky and full moon - Elbereth has given your son the best chance he could have."

With a word to their horses Elerína and Thorongil sped towards the west gate. The guardsman opened it as they approached; he was a clever man, and having heard of Percy's plight from his father was expecting that some would-be heroes would come riding through. He was also a pragmatic man, and wished he were at the Prancing Pony to bet against their return.

"How long has it been since you actually had to track ... anything?" asked Elerína.

"A long time," replied Thorongil. "How long has it been since you fought anything?"

Elerina nodded. "Point taken."

Soon the two adventurers came to the edge of the Downs, near where Percy had last been seen. Unfortunately Percy's father had not known exactly where he had been when he last saw his son, so they had to spend time finding the start of the trail. Fortunately what Thorongil lacked in recent experience he made up for with a sharp eye, and they soon set off onto the Downs in pursuit of young Percy.

As they passed between two particularly ominous looking barrows they were suddenly faced with a spectre of clearly hostile intent. No sooner had the ghost of a decaying king appeared than Thorongil drew his bow and fired an arrow. Unfortunately it had no effect, passing straight through the ghostly apparition, much to Elerína's amusement.

"Eyes of an eagle indeed," she laughed. "Clearly that is only an illusion."

Elerína seemed to be correct and they proceeded with their search without delay. Fearing that they would find the boy too late, they risked losing the path by riding short distances between signs. As midnight approached, the tracks led them atop a large barrow with standing stones upon its crest. There were some signs of a small struggle, and they found a child's shoe.

"Well this looks promising," said Thorongil.

"Promising is not the word I would have used," Elerína replied in a tone betraying her concern.

"If they had killed the boy there would be blood," explained Thorongil. "They took him alive, most likely for some dark ritual."

Elerina shuddered at the thought. "Well they certainly didn't invite him over for tea, so we better figure out where they took him."

"I suspect he is below our feet."

"And how might we get there?"

"The men of Numenor, even in Middle Earth, retained some of the rituals of the Eldar they fought beside in the wars of Beleriand," explained Thorongil. "Among these is the custom of facing west at sunset. I suspect that they would have placed the entrance to their tombs on the western side of the barrow."

They searched and quickly found a door into the barrow.

"Do you think they would give us the boy if we agree to leave them in peace?" asked Elerína.

"What?" exclaimed Thorongil, trying to keep quiet. "You don't negotiate with Barrow Wights!"

"Well not with that attitude you don't," said Elerína.

"I'm serious!" hissed Thorongil, not at all amused. "They exist to kill and draw more and more power into their treasure hoard through dark rituals. They don't understand barter or diplomacy. You'd have better luck negotiating with a bear."

"And don't tell me you could negotiate with a bear, that isn't the point!" he added, before she could answer.

"So what is the plan?" she asked.

"Slip in, quietly, and find the boy. If we are engaged before we find him, you show them what real light looks like. Once we find the boy, carry him outside. If possible I'd rather fight the guardians of the barrow under the light of the stars than in their own lair."

They stepped softly into the ancient tomb, which wasn't particularly complex a structure. They followed a passage of twenty or thirty yards into a central burial chamber, where upon a central raised table should have sat the preserved body of some long dead king of men. Long ago the Witch-King of Angmar, Lord of the Nine, defiled these tombs and laid upon them a terrible curse. He removed the bodies and in their place left spirits of gnawing hunger and insatiable greed. None among the wise could say where they came from or whether they had any connection to the kings of old. The spells of preservation, set to preserve the kings, preserved the spirits instead. Only those of great power or wisdom could break them, or take back from them one they had taken to consume.

Young Percy, pale as snow, lay upon the table. At the far end of the table from where Thorongil and Elerína hid in the shadows stood a Barrow Wight in its full power. It held a long and twisted knife in one hand, and a bloodstained chalice in the other. Elerína and Thorongil had arrived not a moment too soon, and things then happened very quickly.

"Light, as strong as you can give me, in three seconds," Thorongil whispered.

Elerína slipped off her right glove as Thorongil strode into the circular chamber and drew his sword. As the spectre looked up to face his new foe, Thorongil knelt so that the creature looked straight at Elerína's outstretched hand. From it came a flash, as though for an instant a star sat on her palm, and the wight stumbled back, dropping its weapon.

By the time the wight had recovered and retrieved its weapon Thorongil had leapt across the table and stood between the spectre and its prey. Elerína came quickly to carry the boy to safety as Thorongil and the wight engaged in a furious duel. Elerína carried Percy out of the barrow as sounds of clashing steel and assorted incantations echoed down the exit tunnel.

As soon as they were outside, Elerína set Percy on the ground and knelt over him. The healers in Bree would have thought him dead, but she was no village herbalist. She placed her hand on his forehead and immediately he awoke, like one startled from a horrible dream.

"Lie still, child," she whispered, "you're safe now."

Percy's breathing calmed and he rested on the grass as Elerína sat beside him. She could still hear Thorongil and the wight fighting inside the barrow. After a time he came out of the tunnel, looking a little worse for wear.

"I think we are supposed to carry the treasures of the mound out of the barrow and onto the top of the hill, to prevent the wight from returning," he said.

"Sounds plausible," nodded Elerína. "That's more your area of expertise."

"Curses and black magic," Thorongil replied, "or manual labor?"

"Both," she said with a smile. "I'm helping the boy! You can handle it, can't you?"

"Of course, your grace," Thorongil laughed. Elerína only rolled her eyes.

After twenty minutes or so the contents of the barrow were spread across the mound; swords and shields and jewelry glinting in the moonlight. Percy was now wide awake, and surprisingly upbeat given his recent brush with death. He marveled at the treasure strewn about.

"Where did all this come from?" he asked.

"The Barrow Downs are tombs for ancient kings of men," explained Thorongil. "This particular king seems to have been from the First Age, before the Edain came and conquered these lands."

Whether Percy knew enough history to understand any of that answer was unclear, but he seemed satisfied. He picked up a golden cup and examined it closely.

"Do you think we can take some of this home?" he asked eagerly.

"A little bit, yes," answered Thorongil. "How much do you remember of what happened tonight?"

"I got lost," said Percy, "and every time I thought I was almost home I saw more hills. Then the sun went down, and it became very cold. Then it felt like I was being followed, then something grabbed me!"

As the horrors of the night came back to Percy, Elerína embraced him.

"Who are you?" he asked, suddenly realizing he hadn't a clue who had rescued him.

"I'm Elerína, and he is Thorongil," she replied, pointing to her companion who was picking his way through the treasure hoard looking for anything that might be useful. "Your father came to The Prancing Pony when he couldn't find you on the Downs. We set off at once to try to rescue you."

"Oh, well thank you," smiled Percy.

"Are you done yet?" Elerína yelled.

"Almost," shouted Thorongil from the other side of the hill, still picking through the treasures. He was already carrying three swords and some jewelry.

"Alright, we should go," he said after another few minutes. He loaded his saddlebags with his treasure and tied the larger items to his saddle. Elerína helped young Percy up onto her horse, which could easily carry them both.

It was nearly three in the morning when they rode up to Percy's house. His parents were overjoyed to see him, and offered Elerína and Thorongil anything and everything they owned as compensation for saving their son. Elerína kindly refused, and Thorongil left a sizable portion of the treasure he had taken from the barrow with his family.

"After all, little Percy did find the barrow," he laughed.


	2. His Lance was Keen

**Chapter Two**

**His Lance was Keen**

* * *

 

Two weeks after Thorongil and Elerína rescued Percy from the Barrow Downs the excitement their quest had generated was finally dying down.  Elerína gave most of the treasure they had brought back from the barrow to the local school at which she taught history, and used what she had left to buy the occasional round of drinks at the Pony.  In doing so she made friends of just about everyone in Bree.   
  
Thorongil sold the swords he had recovered from the barrow to the party of dwarf merchants staying at the Pony, making enough coin to cover all their expenses living at The Prancing Pony for at least six months.  The only treasure he kept from his adventure was a diamond necklace for Elerína.   
  
A number of Bree-folk, upon seeing the riches that came from their short adventure, proposed an expedition to the Downs with the express goal of treasure hunting.  Thorongil tried to explain that if one plundered a wight's lair for personal gain the treasure would be cursed and bring them nothing but sorrow, but many of the would-be adventurers didn't believe it.  Fortunately they did understand when Elerína and Thorongil made it clear they would not be riding to the rescue of anyone who went onto the Downs looking for treasure, which put a damper on their plotting.  Any remaining plans for ill conceived raids on the barrows were put to rest by the mayor of Bree, who reminded the townsfolk that technically all the wealth buried beneath the Downs was the property of the King, and the town guard had the authority to seize whatever treasure an adventurer might find.   
  
It was just after sunset when Elerína returned to the Prancing Pony and joined Thorongil at a table for two.  She looked exhausted; her evening history lessons at Bree’s schoolhouse were becoming very popular, and she was invariably bombarded with questions.   
  
"Did you teach them anything interesting today?" he asked.   
  
"The quest of Eärendil," Elerína replied.   
  
Thorongil leaned back on his chair and smiled.  "That's a good tale, though I prefer the tales that come after.”   
  
"Maybe you should tell them," Elerína  suggested.   
  
"Just because I was there does not mean I can match your eloquence," he replied.   
  
"Unfortunately my knowledge of Middle Earth's history immediately after the Great War is limited," said Elerína.  "I believe Elrond's people kept detailed records. Any interest in a trip to Rivendell?"   
  
Elerína knew the answer was yes.  Thorongil smiled like a child opening presents.  He had been eager to visit Rivendell from the moment they came to Bree.  There was a relic of the elder days which he hoped still lay in the hidden valley.   
  
"Now?" he asked eagerly.   
  
"Let's leave first thing in the morning," said Elerína.   
  
At dawn the next morning, Thorongil and Elerína set out along the East Road.  Thorongil was dressed as a ranger. His exquisite sword stood in stark contrast to his simple green and brown attire.  Elerína wore an outfit of black leather and satin trimmed with white, exceedingly elegant yet functional. One passing her on the road might think it equally likely she was travelling to a battle or a ball, but certainly would think she was not to be taken lightly in either event.  Around her belt a few oddities hung: the hilt of an exceedingly ornate dueling foil with no blade to be seen, a slightly curved cylinder of glass about and inch thick, and a small blue silk pouch covered in golden embroidery.   
  
After a hard day’s riding they arrived at the last proper inn along the East Road.  The Forsaken Inn was almost as old as the road itself, and since it's construction it had been a place of ill repute.  All manner of ruffians, scoundrels, and malcontents spent their coin on poor drink, gambling, and entertainment. Unfortunately it was raining hard, so Elerína decided they would stop there rather than camp under the stars.  She asked Thorongil to take care of the horses while she went in to see about lodging.   
  
"Be careful in there, I doubt many fair maidens ride through here," said Thorongil with a wink.   
  
"Oh quit worrying, I'll be fine," she replied, opening the door to the inn.   
  
The common room was bustling with activity, filled with unclean and uncivilized men.  A den of thieves would have been cleaner - this was the den for thieves not good enough to have their own dens.   
  
Immediately a number of men stood up to greet Elerína, and not in a friendly way.   
  
"Oh my," said the closest ruffian, "looks like we'll be having fun tonight boys."   
  
Elerína was immediately certain she would not be staying anywhere near this wretched place.  She wasn't worried for her own safety - the first person to lay a finger on her would be dead before the second finger landed - she was worried about the ramifications of the slaughter that might ensue.  Nevertheless, she wanted to teach the occupants of this establishment a lesson in respect.   
  
"You boys want to play a game?" she said in a playful tone that barely hid her malice.  "All right… let's play hide and seek."   
  
With a wave of her hand she turned to leave as chaos ensured.  The men screamed and clutched their eyes. Those who were standing groped for their chairs or tables as if in total darkness.  All manner of bedlam broke loose as people stumbled over benches and tumbled headlong into their comrades, many holding mugs of beer or plates of food.  Everyone in that hall had been blinded.   
  
"We're leaving," declared Elerína as she stepped back outside, speaking loudly over the sounds of cursing voices and falling furniture.   
  
"What happened?" asked Thorongil confused.   
  
"We're leaving  _ now _ ," Elerína replied, mounting her horse.   
  
"Alright then," Thorongil laughed, guessing from the sounds of mayhem something of what had happened.   
  
They rode for many days, most of which were rainy - though it never rained where they camped.  Thorongil insisted they find the three stone trolls, which cost them three days of searching.   
  
It was a full ten days after they had set out when they arrived at the ford of Bruinen.  They crossed and entered the Hidden Valley to the sound of silence. It was deserted - not a single elf remained to sing joyous songs under the sun or stars.   
  
"I hope it is still here," muttered Thorongil.   
  
"Good hunting," Elerína replied.   
  
While Thorongil searched through the armory and the vaults of Rivendell for his prize, Elerína took a leisurely stroll to the library.  She found a number of books that would be useful in teaching the people of Bree as well as a few older tomes she had never read. By the end of the first night she had everything she needed, and went to find a room still furnished in which they could spend the night.   
  
Thorongil had less luck.  He searched long into the night and woke up early the next morning to continue his efforts.  By evening he gave up searching and instead went to the library himself to find any records of Gil-galad's possessions' final resting place.  Late that night he found what he sought in a footnote in a long forgotten tome authored by Elrond himself.   
  
" _ Against the Spear of Gil-galad and the Sword of Elendil none could stand, save Sauron alone against whom both did break.  The shards of the sword were passed on to Elendil's heir, but the spear was made only for the High King of the Noldor. I thus decided that with him they would remain. _ "   
  
The next morning Elerína found Thorongil standing before a small mound in a courtyard covered in flowers.   
  
"It was buried with him?" she asked, guessing the answer.   
  
"It's never simple, is it?" he replied.   
  
"Are you going to dig it up?"   
  
"I don't know."   
  
Elerína put her arm on his shoulder.   
  
"The world he knew made him a soldier first and a king second.  If you were in his place, what would you want done?"   
  
"I would expect me to take it," he replied, picking up a shovel he had found in a store room.   
  
"I'm sure he would be honored to see you carry his weapon," said Elerína she left.   
  
After carefully reburying the bones of the last high king of the elves, Thorongil took the shards of Aeglos to the forges of Rivendell.  With the very tools that reforged its ally Narsil into The Flame of the West he repaired The Icicle. It was seven feet long but less than two inches thick, a cylinder tapering to a perfect point a foot from the tip.  It was made of a glistening white metal with the appearance of new fallen snow and weighing almost nothing. It was cold to the touch and the air around it became like breath on a winter's morning.   
  
When Thorongil was finished he showed the weapon to Elerína.   
  
"It's not Ringil," he said, "but it should suffice for the time being."   
  
Elerína laughed.  "It should suffice?  Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that possibly the most valuable weapon remaining in Middle Earth?  It's probably worth more than Bree!"   
  
"We don't know what remains of Sauron's craftsmanship," he said.   
  
"We are not going to Mordor," Elerína interjected, eager to put an end to this line of thought.   
  
"It would be exciting.”   
  
"Too exciting," she replied.   
  
They spent the rest of the day and another night in the valley.  Even abandoned, Rivendell felt much more like home than Bree ever could.  Nevertheless at dawn on the fourth day they began the return journey west.   
  
After a few days of hard riding they arrived once more at the Forsaken Inn.   
  
"We should get a warm meal," Elerína decided.   
  
"What are you planning?" Thorongil asked suspiciously.   
  
"I want to see if they learned their lesson"   
  
"Next time you want to lecture me about staying focused on our mission, remember this."   
  
Elerína stepped into the inn and immediately a scoundrel stood up.  He got only as far as "well what have we here" before the man next to him yanked him back into his seat.   
  
"Don't speak to her!" he whispered frantically.  "Don't even look at her. She's a witch, sure as I'm a man."   
  
Similar exchanges happened at many tables as those who had been present for Elerína's first visit explained to their brothers in crime what had happened.   
  
"A witch?" growled Thorongil as he passed the man's table.  "That's awfully rude."   
  
The man gave no answer.  Thorongil and Elerína had warm bread and soup, of poor quality and overpriced, then carried on with their journey.   
  
Late at night they passed through the east gate of Bree and arrived at the Prancing Pony.  Before they could go to their rooms Barliman Butterbur Jr., who went by Barley and was at times mockingly called "Barley-boy Butterbur" by the older men of Bree who had known his father, gave them a very official looking letter.  It bore the seal of the King.   
  
In many words it relayed a simple message: the King's regent wished to meet the slayer of the barrow wight as soon as possible.  Thorongil guessed he had some task for them, and he was not eager to take orders from a servant of a mortal king.   
  
"Just last week you wanted to go to Mordor, and now you don't want to meet the leader of the Rangers of The North who probably wants you to go off and do something incredibly dangerous?" asked Elerína incredulously.   
  
"Fine, I'll go," moaned Thorongil.   
  
"You mean 'we'll go,' don't you?" corrected Elerína.


	3. Duel in the Dark

"Please let me do the talking," begged Elerína as she and Thorongil rode up to the gates of the palace in Annuminas.   
  
Annuminas was bustling with activity as countless workmen repaired the city and the palace in particular.  Work on the ancient capital had begun in earnest the previous summer, when the king made it known that he intended to hold formal court in the Palace of Elendil within a year and half.  Aragorn knew it would be challenging to repair the broken city, but he had faith in Bergil's leadership and had designated considerable coin from the treasury in Minas Tirith for the project.  He also made it known that anyone who wished to repair a house in the lower districts of the city would own it when they finished. This attracted many skilled artisans who could not afford space in Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth.  Additionally he sold a number of large and formerly elegant houses to lesser nobles and rich tradesmen of Gondor who hoped to find in the north what eluded them in the south: royal titles, a place in the court, and of course the King's ear.   
  
The palace of Annuminas was nearly finished, though it still lacked a roof.  The dwarves of the blue mountains had been contracted to provide this, and they assured Bergil it would be done by the winter solstice.  Thus it was raining lightly as Elerína and Thorongil approached the throne.   
  
Much to his annoyance Thorongil has forced to leave Aeglos, which was wrapped in grey cloth, as well as his sword at the door.  He swore that death would come to any man who touched either.   
  
The throne was raised up on steps of stone.  At the feet of these steps there lay a wooden stool, and on that stool sat an old ranger.  Bergil stood to greet them.   
  
"Welcome, friends," he said.   
  
"You will kneel before the throne," commanded the guard who had guided them in.   
  
"Damn," whispered Elerína as she knelt.   
  
Thorongil only bowed his head.   
  
"You will kneel, now," growled the guardsman.   
  
"I did not kneel in Doriath, I do not kneel in Tirion, and I will not kneel here," Thorongil replied sternly.   
  
Before the guard could object further, Bergil decided discretion was the better part of valor.   
  
"Rise," he said approaching them, and Elerína stood up.   
  
"Tell me... Thorongil, isn't it," he continued, "what have I done to earn your disrespect?"   
  
"Bergil, the king's regent in the north" Thorongil replied before Elerína could try to smooth things over.  "Son of Beregond. Witnessed the Siege of Minas Tirith, trained as a ranger in Ithilien. Twenty-seven separate engagements including The Battle of Arnor, decorated twelve times, twice with Elendil's Star for exceptional bravery and once with Arathorn's gem for unconventional thinking.  I assure you I hold you in the highest respect - but I will not kneel."   
  
Bergil was taken aback by the stranger's knowledge of his background.   
  
"You seem to know all about me," he replied, "so why don't you tell me about yourself?"   
  
"I'm Elerína, and this as you have heard is my husband Thorongil," responded Elerína.  "We recently began living in Bree."   
  
"Where are you from?" asked Bergil.   
  
"The Grey Havens," replied Elerína.  This was technically true.   
  
"Cirdan's folk have always been our allies," nodded Bergil.  "Though they show little interest in the affairs of men. What brought you to Bree?"   
  
"A desire to see the world," answered Elerína.  "It has been a very long time, even by the reckoning of Elves, since we last travelled beyond our homeland."   
  
Content with their answers, Bergil dismissed his guards so he could speak with the strangers alone.   
  
"I have heard that you slew a barrow wight in its lair," whispered Bergil.  "I am well aware that after an adventure it is common to exaggerate the deeds one has done when telling them at an inn.  Indeed, it would be a much less interesting world if every tale was told exactly as it happened! I need to know whether the tale is true in full - I will not tell anyone else, you have my word.  I have a problem which requires the attention of someone who can do deeds of that sort, but I do not want to send you to your deaths."   
  
"I assure you the tale is true," replied Thorongil.  "And with the weapons I laid at your door I can undertake whatever task you have prepared for me."   
  
"I am glad to hear it," said Bergil.  "We are nearly done repairing the palace.  Underneath these halls are the tombs of the kings of Arnor.  No man who has entered them has returned. I do not know what you will find down there, but it killed ten of my best Rangers two weeks ago.  Let me know if you need anything to prepare."   
  
Thorongil wasted no time heading down to the entrance of the tombs.  He cast off his green and brown travelling cloths and beneath them was black armor.  It appeared quite unnatural: light plates connected by such fine mail that it looked like a liquid surface of black ink.  It shimmered in the light, but when shadow was behind it it seemed to melt into the darkness.   
  
He entered the tombs with only his sword.  Aeglos would have been too unwieldy in the tight corridors of the tombs, so Thorongil was forced to leave his new weapon behind.  Elerína remained at the entrance to the tombs, her hand frequently on the mysterious bladeless sword hilt at her side.   
  
After a few minutes of stalking through the pitch black Thorongil instinctively leapt forward.  As he did so he felt the tip of a blade slide across his back. His armor did its job, and he turned to face his foe.  His enemy had the shape of a man with bat-like wings: what mortal men called a vampire - a maiar servant of the great enemy.  Hundreds, perhaps thousands, fought and died in Morgoth's wars. Few survived into the Second Age of the Sun, let alone the third and fourth.   
  
The fight was difficult but not long.  As they rolled and spun through the catacombs, Thorongil's glowing red sword set against the vampire's black steel, Thorongil scored hit after hit.  There wasn't a scratch on him when he returned carrying his enemy's sword.   
  
Bergil was standing by Elerína when Thorongil walked triumphantly out of the tombs hardly fifteen minutes after he had entered.  They had heard the clashing of weapons.   
  
"It was a vampire," explained Thorongil, handing its black sword to the ranger.  "Not a particularly powerful one, but in the stifling darkness of the tombs I can understand how it overwhelmed your men.  It’s body is ash - your men on the other hand will need to be removed."   
  
Elerína embraced her husband for a moment.  "I forgot how much I hate the watching and waiting!”   
  
"You have rendered us a great service," Bergil said.  "How can we repay you?"   
  
Neither Thorongil nor Elerína had immediate suggestions.   
  
"We have everything we need at the moment," she replied.  "That said, I am sure someday we will need the favor of your king.  Thus we ask only that you tell him of our deeds, and that we did it as a favor to him."   
  
"Very well," nodded Bergil.  "It shall be as you ask. Also, visit the soldier's mess for free meals while you are here, or supplies for your journey home.  If you wish to stay in Annuminas, I am sure we can find lodging for you."   
  
Elerína and Thorongil remained in Annuminas for a day and saw much of the city.  Thorongil offered considerable quantities unsolicited advice on the construction of the city's defenses while Elerína made some friends among the young nobility of the fledgling northern capital.  In the evening they dined with Bergil and learned much of what was happening in other parts of Middle Earth.   
  
The next morning Elerína and Thorongil set off for Bree.  The journey was uneventful, and they arrived at the Pony the next evening.  On their journey they discussed at length their plans for the months ahead, and both agreed that it was time to head east.  Their time in Bree had acclimated them well to life among mortal-kind in Middle Earth. Soon they would be needed elsewhere to help men face the gathering storm.


	4. Kings of the North

Almost as soon as Elerína and Thorongil returned from their trip to Annuminas Thorongil left for an adventure in the frozen north.  He was gone for six weeks, time which Elerína used to finish her teaching at Bree's school and wrap up their affairs in the small town.

Soon after Thorongil returned he and Elerína loaded up their horses and left Bree.  Most of the Bree-folk were sad to see them leave. Elerína had become friends with almost everyone - the mayor of Bree might have been worried for his job had she stayed much longer.  Despite their best efforts no one was able to convince the travelers to reveal where they had come from or why they had stayed as long as they had.

They travelled to the Woodland Realm by way of Rivendell, the high pass, and the northern path through Mirkwood.  The only adventure they had was on the secret road through Mirkwood; Thorongil swam the enchanted stream and lay asleep on the opposite bank for nearly a day despite his confidence that the magic would have no effect on him.  Elerína was most amused by this, and avoided the water entirely by floating across through the air in a display of power that Thorongil would have thought very unwise had he been able to keep his eyes open.

They reached the doors to Thranduil's Halls in the first week of October and immediately Thorongil, Aeglos in hand, demanded to see the king.

As he and Elerína entered the hall he addressed the king in a loud voice.

"Hail Thranduil, son of Oropher," was as far as he got.

"Eönwë!" cried the king, recalling a happy day of his childhood - the liberation of Menegroth in the Year 560 of the first age.

*

  
_A young Thranduil jostled his way to the front of the crowd in the main hall of Menegroth.  Following the death of Dior it was hardly even a shadow of its former glory, the last refuge of those too proud or frightened to abandon their once glorious caverns.  Thranduil had heard rumors that the war was over - that the armies of Manwë and Varda had finally broken through Morgoth's line at the river Aros and Morgoth's host was retreating beyond the Esgalduin.  Menegroth, what little remained, was free once more!_

_They had been under siege for years.  Had it not been for the Great Host's timely arrival which drew Morgoth's attention away from the broken kingdom of Doriath, they would surely all have been hauled away to Angband in chains._

_"Make way!" cried an elf, leading the commanders of the liberating army into the great hall._

_Thranduil and all those with him gasped.   At the head of the procession was a great warrior in incredibly ornate armor of shining silver and gold.  In his right hand was a long silver spear, and in his left a red shield with fourteen white stars. His armor was not what stunned the crowd, however.  They gasped at his wings - wings like a great eagle's which sprang from his back a bit below the shoulder._

_Many in Doriath had seen a maia.  Melian their former queen was counted mighty among their kind, and a few soldiers had seen the servants of the enemy: balrogs and werewolves and vampires.  Nevertheless, seeing the Herald of Manwë before them in full battle dress was something none of them would ever forget._

_"Is it over?" cried a voice from the crowd._

_"Over?" repeated Eönwë grimly.  "Perhaps for you, if you wish it to be.  You must all make ready to leave these lands, unless you wish to join our host.  Soon everything within catapult range of the Esgalduin will be a burnt beyond recognition."_

_"I will see to the evacuation," said Oropher, Thranduil's father, stepping forward from the crowd.  He was as close to a leader as the refugees in Menegroth had._

_Eönwë nodded.  "Very well. I want anyone who can evacuate before nightfall to do so."_

_"Why such a rush?" asked Oropher, speaking the mind of many among his people._

_"Because if I were the enemy commander I would have pre-positioned siege engines all along the Esgalduin to try to catch our forces in the open along this bank of the river, and Menegroth would be well within range," Eönwë replied.  "Melkor would love to hear that you were all killed as you fled. Hurry! Every moment's delay increases your danger."_

_At this warning the inhabitants of Menegroth quickly fled their halls.  Eönwë ordered one of his lieutenants to escort them south through parts of the forest which had been fully secured.  When they made camp that night they could see a red glow in the northern sky, and they wept at the thought of their once beautiful wood consumed by fire.  A young warrior named Carmegil swore he would avenge their homeland, and with a few friends asked the nearest soldier how they might join Eönwë's host._

_Thranduil saw no more of Eönwë during the war.  He was sent, at his father's command, far to the south and away from the fighting.  Oropher returned north to lead what remained of Doriath's rangers in many campaigns during the Great War.  Eönwë used them as scouts and for hit and run attacks. The Herald of Manwë fought alongside them on a few occasions, something Oropher took great pride in throughout his life._

_Carmegil went on to be selected for Eönwë's most elite elven guard.  He fought alongside the Prince of Eagles in many battles. Between his father and Carmegil, Thranduil heard countless stories of Eönwë's heroics.  He often regretted being sent away from the fighting and it was not until he had a son of his own that he understood his father's decision._

*

  
"Even without your wings I recognize you," said the Elven King smiling.  "I shall order a feast prepared, if you do not intend to order us all to evacuate by sundown."

"Set the feast," Thorongil laughed.  "But first order those present to speak to no one of our identities.  Ours is a secret mission."

Thranduil did as was requested.

"Who is your companion?" the king asked after dismissing his counselors.

"The Lady Ilmarë, my wife" replied Eönwë,  "travelling under the name Elerína."

"What brings you to Middle Earth?" asked Thranduil.

"We are Mithrandir's replacements," laughed Thorongil.

"Surely there is more to it than that," Thranduil replied.  "The Valar would not send their mightiest champion without great cause."

"The council and foresight of the Valar is ours to keep or share at our discretion," said Thorongil. "I will say only that the world is changing: the separation of Aman and Middle Earth was never meant to be, and as it crumbles I fear the enemy may make his play.  Furthermore, as the world is restored the sundering sea will become impassable - no further aid can come that way."

"Middle Earth could have used you a few years ago," laughed the Elven King, only half in jest.

"I assure you that had I been permitted, I would have come," said Thorongil.  "But Mithrandir did well in my stead."

The feast Thranduil prepared was the best food and drink the two maiar had enjoyed since coming to Middle Earth.  They were glad to be in the company of elves, even if they spoke the Sindarin tongue. After a week's rest in Thranduil's halls the Elven King insisted on taking them to meet Thorin son of Dain, King Under The Mountain.  Elerína was eager to see the kingdom of Erebor - she had never met a dwarf.

Thranduil and his personal guard escorted Thorongil and Elerína to Erebor.  After stopping briefly in Dale at the tomb of Bard the Bowman the company arrived at the gates of The Lonely Mountain.

"Aulë would be proud," muttered Elerína as she looked at the massive carved figures surrounding the entrance to the Mountain.

Thranduil received a warm welcome at the gate.  He dismissed his guard to find food and merriment while he, Thorongil, and Elerína were ushered into the throne room.  Thorin III, son of Dain Ironfoot, came down from his high throne to greet them.

"Thranduil, it is good to see you my friend," he said in a boisterous voice.  "What brings you to my mountain?"

"It is good to see you too, Thorin," Thranduil replied with a bow.  "I come with good tidings, but they are not for all ears to hear. May we speak with you in private?"

Thorin led his guests into a small sitting room just off the throne room.  It had furniture in both dwarf and human sizes, and the dwarf sized furniture was all on one side of the room where the floor was raised a few feet.  After he shut the door, Thranduil continued.

"The West has sent ambassadors to aid us in this age of the world," he said.  "My companions are Eönwë and Ilmarë, Manwë and Varda's greatest servants. They travel under the names Thorongil and Elerína."

"By Mahal's beard!" exclaimed the dwarf.

Elerína giggled, to the dwarven king's confusion.

"You find something funny?" he asked, unsure if he should feel insulted.

"Well, I have seen Aulë's beard, and while it's a fine beard I never would have thought to swear by it," she replied.

Thorongil smiled.  He knew that the dwarves would be far more accommodating if reminded that he and his wife were emissaries of their maker in addition to Manwë and Varda, and it had taken her all of a minute to find a chance to remind them.

Thorin was a bit stunned at the thought that his guests had actually met the Father of the Dwarves.

"I think he would be proud of what you have built here," she continued.

"What brings you to The Lonely Mountain?" stammered the king recovering from his shock.  "Do you require our assistance? Supplies? Something of our craftsmanship? You need only ask!"

Elerína probably could have asked for the Arkenstone itself, but that was not in her nature.

"We have all that we require at the moment," she answered with a smile.

"Will you stay with us a while?" asked Thorin eagerly.

"Only a few days," answered Elerína.  "Like Gandalf we must seek out danger before it strikes, and I think we will be needed first in Minas Tirith."

"If you find yourself needing a place to stay or the craftsmanship of my people, The Mountain shall be open to you," said Thorin.

"For that we are grateful," nodded Elerína.

After speaking to the king the two maiar visited the market of Erebor, located in the main entrance hall of the mountain.  Thorongil bought a circular shield which would have been a fairly sized shield for a dwarf but on his arm was a small buckler.  Elerína was surprised at the quality of their textiles. She bought herself a dress in a distinctly northern style so that she could more easily pass as a travelling merchant from Dale if the need arose.

They ate with Thranduil and Thorin that night.  There they learned from Thorin that a large caravan of merchants would be leaving for Minas Tirith the next day.  It would be a ten week journey, but it would be an excellent opportunity to slip into the city unnoticed.

As they prepared to leave the next morning, both Thranduil and Thorin approached them with gifts.

"Take this letter," said Thranduil, "to give to lord Aragorn when you need to reveal your identities.  It is marked with signs and codes to prove its authenticity."

"And take this letter of credit," added Thorin.  "The bank of Minas Tirith will honor it."

The letter of credit was for a very generous sum - more than even a rich man might make in a year.

"We can't accept this," said Elerína.

"That money is owed to me personally, and it is mine to do with as I please," Thorin replied.  "You will have more need of it than I will."

Elerína bowed and accepted the gift.  Both maiar thanked the kings for their assistance.  They set off with the caravan, ostensibly as tourists eager to see the south.  The journey was long but uneventful - the world had not been as safe as it was now since the height of Numenor's dominance.  They traveled mostly due south, through lands of small villages, farms, and long stretches of wilderness where no man dwelt. They crossed the Anduin at Cair Andros, where the merchants groaned loudly at the tariffs imposed.   They passed through the Pelennor, where one could still make out the trenches that had been dug by the orcs during the siege more than half a century prior.

It was early January when they passed through the gates of Minas Tirith.  Thorongil and Elerína ate one last meal with their travelling companions at a tavern on the first level.  When they were done eating everyone went their separate ways.


	5. Making Friends

On their first day in Minas Tirith the maiar decided to walk the main road which ran up through the city, from the main gate to the entrance of the seventh level.  Thorongil was impressed with the city's defenses while Elerína was disappointed with its aesthetics. They were denied passage into the seventh level and thus were unable to see the White Tree.   
  
It was late at night when the two weary travelers returned to the lower levels of Minas Tirith.  Wandering in search of lodging, they found themselves accosted by three thieves in a dark alley.   
  
"Hand over your valuables and no one gets hurt," said the leader of the bandits.  They carried clubs, and covered their faces with cloth.   
  
Thorongil drew a small silver knife in each hand from behind his back.  As he prepared for what would have been an incredibly short fight another figure stepped up behind them.   
  
"You'd better have something better than clubs," he said, stepping between the bandits and their intended marks.  He held out a longsword in challenge. The criminals took off down the alley and quickly disappeared into the shadows.   
  
"You should not wander the side streets of the lower levels this late at night," warned the man.   
  
"Thank you for helping us," Elerína replied.  She sounded very relieved - though it was not because she had been in any danger, but rather because the situation had been resolved without any casualties.  She knew that her husband had killed humans during the War of Wrath, but she wasn't ready to see it in person. Their mission was not to purge the world of wickedness, it was to counter those of their own kind who wished to harm the children of Ilúvatar.  Thorongil had a tendency to take a more expansive view of their mission.   
  
"Are you in need of a place to sleep?" inquired the man.   
  
Elerína told him they were, and he suggested they rent a room at an inn on the first level at which he was staying.  They agreed to his suggestion. On the walk down they learned much about the young man.   
  
His name was Eddil, and he was the son of a knight of Dol Amroth and a nurse of the Houses of Healing.  He would have followed in his father's footsteps except he was terrible with horses and was afraid to ride them at speed.  He and a few of his friends fancied themselves adventurers, and they were planning something of a rescue mission into Mordor.   
  
"If you are planning to go to Mordor you should take Thorongil with you," Elerína suggested.  "He loves that sort of thing."   
  
"This isn't a joke!" Eddil exclaimed.  "A company of the King's rangers has disappeared near Cirith Ungol, and my beloved is among them!"   
  
"She did not jest," said Thorongil.  " You would be hard pressed to find better help than mine."   
  
"Do you even have a sword?" he asked.   
  
Thorongil drew his blade and from countless tiny runes along it’s surface came a pale red glow.  Eddil was speechless. Maybe there was hope for his quest after all.   
  
"I guess you didn't need my help back there," he murmured.

 

“That does not make what you did any less heroic,” Elerína answered, patting him on the shoulder.   
  
"The king has offered no reward for this quest," continued Eddil.  "Indeed, all travel to Mordor is forbidden, so if we go, we must deceive the King's men and perhaps face his wrath on our return."   
  
"I am no servant of the King," Thorongil replied.   
  
"So you are elves?" asked Eddil.   
  
"Something like that," Elerína answered.   
  
Eddil laughed.  "I have a friend who fancies himself somewhat of an expert on 'something like elves.'"   
  
They reached the inn,  _ The Drawn Sword _ , and Thorongil and Elerína rented a room for the night.  Both they and Eddil soon retired to their rooms, agreeing to meet the next morning to discuss their plans over breakfast.   
  
When they came to the common room in the morning the maiar found Eddil at a table with three comrades, all men of similar age to him.  One wore the green and white of Rohan, one the black and silver of Minas Tirith, and the last wore plain blue clothes befitting a common man of the country.   
  
"This is Thorongil," explained Eddil to his friends.  "He has offered to join us in our quest."   
  
"Let me introduce you to Gram, Aldamir, and Timothy," Eddil said, turning to Thorongil and Elerína.  "Gram is quite good with an ax and shield, and knows how to handle horses. Aldamir is a practiced duelist, and his family's business connections across North have proven useful in our travels.  Timothy is ..."   
  
"Don't say it," interjected Timothy, though from his voice it was clear he knew Eddil would say whatever it was.   
  
"... a wizard."   
  
"I am not a wizard!" exclaimed Timothy, both laughing and angry.  "Just because I know the elder tongues and lore, am far more clever than any of you, and a maia occasionally hears my cries for help, that does not make me a wizard!"   
  
The last item on his list understandably peaked Thorongil’s curiosity.   
  
"A maia?" he inquired.   
  
"The servants of the Valar," Timothy began to explain as Elerína held back laughter.   
  
"I know that," interrupted Thorongil.  "I presume there is a good tale or two regarding their aid to you?"   
  
"I am an orphan," he began. "I can't remember my father, but he was something of the village seer.  Whenever a child was born he would divine some sort of sign for them. When I was born, he gave me this."   
  
Timothy held out a blue stone into which was carved an elegant 'I' surrounded by fourteen stars.  It took all Elerína's practiced composure not to turn white as snow or cry out in shock. To her surprise Thorongil seemed unmoved - if he was as disturbed as she was, he hid it well.   
  
"My mother, who taught me elvish history, told me it was the sigil of Ilmarë - Manwë and Varda's greatest servant," he went on, oblivious to the shock of his listeners.  "One night, when I was playing in the fields with my friends from the village, a wolf came to attack us. I was only seven, perhaps too young to understand my true peril, and I walked towards the beast holding up the stone.  The wolf charged and I cried out to Ilmarë for protection, and I swear on the grave of my father that I saw a great flash of light, and the wolf ran wildly about as though it were blind. Since then I have taken to holding the stone and calling on Her Grace's aid in my times of need, and my friends and I have gotten out of some pretty tight spots."   
  
"It has been said that the name of Elbereth does more harm than a blade to many servants of the enemy," said Thorongil, speaking quickly lest Elerína say something foolish.  "I would not be surprised if her handmaiden's name holds power as well."   
  
"It's quite a tale," nodded Gram, "and I don't deny that you have far more luck than any man deserves, but I'll trust to my ax and my shield over elvish legends."   
  
Aldamir disagreed.  "And I know better than to mock the Powers of the West.  We may need both strong arms and elven legends if we are to brave the stairs of Cirith Ungol."   
  
"So we all intend to undertake this quest?" Eddil asked his friends.   
  
"I will go as far as the base of the stairs," said Timothy.  "I am not quick footed, and I suspect that while you might sneak into Mordor, you will not sneak out."   
  
"I am resolved to go," added Aldamir.  "I will not abandon Caranel to the denizens of Mordor."   
  
Gram nodded.  "I will go with you.  I'd rather die than live knowing I turned aside when the road darkened."   
  
The four adventurers turned to Thorongil and Elerína.   
  
"I will go with you," smiled Thorongil.  "Mordor is lovely this time of year."   
  


Eddil slammed his fist on the table.  "Do you take anything seriously?"   
  
"Certainly," he replied.  "The Spider, for instance.  What news of her?"   
  
"None but the King's men are allowed into her tunnel," answered Aldamir.  "The Rangers do not discuss what they find with us."   
  
"Why would a complete stranger want to face death on a fool's errand such as this?" asked Gram.  "There is no fortune to be made on this quest."   
  
"An honorable cause can be its own reward," replied Thorongil.  "And I have an interest in what is going on in Mordor."   
  
"I want proof you can handle yourself," said Aldamir.  He took two training swords that had been strapped to his pack and handed one to Thorongil, who grinned as he gripped it.   
  
"Shall I face you one at a time, or all at once?" Thorongil taunted.   
  
"I'm going to enjoy this," Aldamir whispered quietly to Eddil.  He felt certain he would easily win - he had studied under the best instructors money could buy - and wipe the smug grin off Thorongil's face.   
  
They all walked outside into a small courtyard.  Aldamir took his stance, one of a professional duelist, and Thorongil turned his back to him, his sword held out to his side.   
  
"Attack," said Thorongil.   
  
Aldamir went to strike him hard.  He now felt certain he wanted no part of Thorongil's company, and thought him likely a con man of some sort, having no real intention of going to Mordor.  He intended to give Thorongil a broken bone or two for wasting their time.   
  
As Aldamir swung Thorongil spun to face him, quick as lightning.  He parried the blow and with his free hand easily ripped the hilt of Aldamir's weapon from his grasp.  Before Aldamir could react Thorongil elbowed him in the face. As he lie on the ground dazed, Thorongil stood over him holding the two blunt blades crossed on his throat.   
  
"At this point I suppose I should hit you as hard as you tried to hit me," threatened Thorongil.  "But it would be unwise to take a broken arm to Mordor."   
  
Thorongil handed one of the swords to Aldamir and helped him to his feet.   
  
"You said you might need both strong arms and elven legends on this quest," smiled Thorongil.  "Fortunately for you, I am both."


	6. Monsters and Men

Eddil, Aldamir, Gram, Timothy, Thorongil and Elerína bought provisions for their journey to Cirith Ungol and left the city to retrieve their horses from the stables just beyond the main gate.  The stables were very busy - Minas Tirith saw many visitors and none save royalty could bring their steeds within the walls without special permission which was rarely granted. The six travellers mounted their horses and left for the Morgul Vale soon after sunrise.  Eddil set a torrid pace, for it was his beloved whose life hung in the balance.   
  
They rode quickly through Osgiliath.  Thorongil would have liked to spend more time in the old city but they were on a tight schedule.  To sneak past the King's guard at Minas Ithil and into Mordor would require the cover of darkness, and Eddil wished to be on the stairs before midnight.   
  
In the evening they arrived at the entrance to the Morgul Vale.  To get past the guards the company split up. Along the main road Timothy and Elerína went to speak to the guards under the false pretense of having taken a wrong turn at the crossroads.  While the guards were distracted the four adventurers heading to Mordor would sneak along a dike near the road. The flaw in the plan was the extra four horses. Elerína suggested they use them as their cover story - they would claim to be delivering the horses to Minas Tirith.   
  
The plan worked.  Everyone made it into the Valley of Sorcery and reached the bridge to Minas Ithil unchallenged.  Only two men guarded the entrance to the stairs. Elerína distracted them with questions about the valley's history.  Timothy was amazed by how easily she turned their attentions away from their charge.   
  
Eddil led his three companions up the start of the Stairs of Cirith Ungol.  They travelled light. Eddil carried his sword, made of solid steel forged in Dol Amroth.  He also carried a short-bow of maple on his back and a small quiver with no more than ten arrows.  Behind Eddil came Gram, carrying a one-handed ax and a green shield bearing the white horse of Rohan.  Aldamir came third, carrying an elvish longsword - an expensive gift from his father for the completion of his training in swordsmanship.   
  
Thorongil wore green and brown garments above his mysterious black armor.  At his left side hung his sword, and around his back beneath his cloak were hidden eight silver throwing knives.   
  
They climbed the stairs for hours before reaching the entrance to the tunnel.  Even Thorongil hesitated at the entrance. He was not sure if in his present form he could face the black spider's eldest daughter.   
  
The tunnel smelled of death and poison.  Any hope they clung too that Sam had slain Shelob quickly faded as they began the dark journey.  Massive webs lined the walls. Thorongil drew his sword and by its pale red glow they navigated the smooth shaft through the mountains.  They made it through the tunnel unchallenged and came upon a fork in the road.   
  
"It's not getting into the Land of Shadow that's the problem," Thorongil muttered.  "It's getting back."   
  
They took the right path towards the main gate of Cirith Ungol.  Thorongil advised against this, wishing to sneak into the tower immediately by the back door.  While it was true that they had no idea what fate had befallen the ranger company, Thorongil felt that Cirith Ungol was the only place they would be found alive, and the view from the tower would help them regardless.  He was outvoted three to one.   
  
As they snuck along the main road they caught their first glimpse of the tower.  The flickering light of a fire came from the highest windows.   
  
Aldamir drew his sword an inch.  The blade glowed faintly blue.   
  
"Orcs," they all muttered.   
  
Thorongil spent a few minutes staring at the tower.  His eyes could see far more than his companions' but despite his efforts the stone walls blocked his sight.  He cursed Manwë's insistence that he should come to Middle Earth trapped in this human form. Ilmarë had been allowed to keep most of her power.  He, like Gandalf before him, had come in the form of a man with only a shadow of his true nature at his disposal.   
  
Manwë had assured him it would be vital to his success.  At the moment it seemed like nothing but a handicap. He couldn't cast down the castle walls with a word of his native tongue, or fly over them and attack from atop the highest tower - at least not without shedding his present form and abandoning his King's council entirely.   
  
A more immediate concern was not his inability to see inside the fortress but the entire company's neglect of their flank.  As Thorongil stared into the night the other three argued over their intended course, and all failed to hear the uruk scouting party hastily coming up the road from Shelob's Lair.   
  
The fifty orcs were almost upon them when Thorongil felt their presence.   
  
There wasn't really an opportunity to fight.  The orcs took the three men captive before they had a chance to react.  Thorongil escaped by leaping into a crevice in the rock through which the road was hewn.  A bit of luck and his magic shrouded him from sight until the orcs moved along, the three bound men in tow.   
  
The Eddil and company quickly accomplished the first half of their mission: they found the missing rangers.  All three would-be rescuers were thrown into a great steel cage with what remained of Caranel's company of rangers.  Ten remained alive, hungry and tired. Caranel was among them.   
  
Eddil embraced her but their joy was short lived.  A massive orc, seven feet tall, ordered several of his archers to take aim through the steel bars of their prison as he unlocked the door.   
  
"The female tonight!" he roared.   
  
"Goodbye love," said Caranel as she signaled two of her comrades to hold Eddil back.  After a brief kiss she walked out of the door which the orc locked behind her. They took her from the hall as Eddil screamed curses.   
  
"You just let them take you?" Eddil shouted.   
  
"To fight a battle under these circumstances would be suicide," said the captain of the rangers, a man named Miller.  He gestured through the iron bars. "They can sit out there and pick us off with their bows. They seem to think we know something important - they feed us, and they take one of us each night for interrogation.  They return the body in the morning. Unless a means of escape presents itself, there is nothing to do but wait and hope for a change in our fortunes. One casualty per day is acceptable losses under the circumstances."   
  
"Acceptable losses!" screamed Eddil.  "Is that what she is to you, a figure on a ledger?"   
  
A fight would certainly have broken out had Aldamir not stepped between Captain Miller and Eddil.  Gram pulled Eddil away from the rangers and tried to console his friend in a corner. As Eddil wept Aldamir spoke with Miller.   
  
"What are so many orcs doing this close to Gondor?" asked Aldamir.   
  
"That isn't clear," said the captain.  "From idle chatter we have gathered that they answer to some witch or sorceress who is elsewhere.  They don't seem to like her very much, but orcs are generally ruled through fear."   
  
"Any hope of escape?" he asked.   
  
"We have been unable to pick the lock, and only the orc's leader Gronak carries a key," answered the Ranger.  "It's a pity; our weapons and armor are strewn along the far wall."   
  
Despite their best efforts, when morning light came through the windows of their prison the door to their cell was still locked up tight.  Two large uruk-hai entered the room outside their cage, followed by a figure in black armor and cloak. They could not see his face, but his eyes seemed to glow red from beneath his hood.  He was carrying a body.   
  
The black clad figure placed Caranel gingerly down before the iron gate of their cell.  She was alive - barely.   
  
"Would one of you boys like to finish her?" he asked the two orcs.  Both drew their weapons walked towards him, out of view of the hall that led back towards the main barracks of the fortress.   
  
Eddil didn't even have time to curse his enemies for their barbarism or say a last goodbye to Caranel.  As soon as the two orcs were up alongside Caranel the black clad warrior threw off his hood. This was not the execution the orcs had anticipated!  They had no time to raise their weapons as Thorongil relieved them of their heads with one sweeping stroke. The captives stood aghast.   
  
"What's wrong?" Thorongil whispered.  "Haven't you seen a jailbreak before?"   
  
Thorongil had used the night well.  After sneaking back to the tunnel and through the back door of Cirith Ungol he had crept through the fortress sealing various doors with magic as he went until he stumbled across some drunken orcs.  From their rantings he learned both of Caranel's plight and the location of the prisoners.   
  
He had reached the top of the tower unnoticed and found Caranel beaten and bloodied but alive.  Gronak, a seven foot tall orc who must have had some Olag-hai blood, threatened to kill her if Thorongil didn't surrender.  Thorongil proposed that each put down their weapons and face one another in unarmed combat. The orc demanded Thorongil drop his sword first, which he did.  Gronak, despite appearing to have a great advantage in this sort of contest, broke his word and charged Thorongil with his mace. Thorongil drew a silver dagger from his belt and threw it straight into Gronak's eye socket before the brute could reach him.   
  
After doing what little he could for Caranel's wounds Thorongil discarded his ranger's gear in favor of wearing his black armor openly.  He then carried her down through the castle answering any challenge with ‘The Lady's Lieutenant.’   
  
He quickly unlocked the door to their prison with a key taken from Caranel's torturer and the rangers immediately sprang into action.  They donned their armor and weapons in scarcely a minute. Caranel could not stand on her own so Eddil and Gram helped her walk.   
  
"We should have a fairly clear path out of the castle," said Thorongil.  "Follow me!"   
  
Thorongil led them through winding passages.  A number of doors they passed were in the process of being hewn down as the orcs tried to cut off their escape. Thorongil had sealed their escape route and the orcs were not clever enough to try to cut them off at the fork in the spider's tunnel.  As they reached the door to Shelob's domain half a dozen orcs barred their way. Without slowing down Thorongil cut through them with his red sword.   
  
"Who is he?" Caranel asked Eddil as he helped carry her.   
  
"He wouldn't say," he replied.  "He goes by 'Thorongil,' which Timothy said was an alias of King Aragorn's long before Sauron's war."   
  
As they left the fortress and entered Shelob's Lair Thorongil stopped the company.  He felt certain Shelob would not let them pass without an attack.   
  
"We must move quickly but cautiously," he said.  "I can try to protect you from Shelob, but if you run when I engage she will leave me to catch you.  You need to stay as close to me as you can while keeping me between you and her."   
  
The men nodded and the company began the long march down Shelob's tunnel.  They nearly made it safely though, but Shelob was waiting for them near the western exit.  Thorongil stepped to face her as the rangers inched backwards in horror. She raised her front legs up in a defensive posture - she knew who she was facing, and expected to have to weather a barrage of lightning and daggers from The Herald of Manwë before getting a chance to take some of the rangers.  She and Eönwë had first met long ago in the broken mountains south of Angband.   
  
"Hello there," said the Spider.   
  
"I've been looking forward to this," Thorongil replied.  He wasn't sure this was a fight he could win, but he needed Shelob to think it was.   
  
"How sweet," replied the monster, venom spitting from her mouth.  "You even brought dinner!"   
  
"Stand down, monster," threatened Thorongil.  He held out his sword and Shelob skittered back as the faint red glow suddenly grew to fill the tunnel.   
  
"Monster?" said she, feigning insult.  "Why, you are more closely related to me than you are to them!"   
  
Every word she spoke increased the rangers' terror and she knew it.  One near the back of the company turned to run back up the passage.   
  
"Stand firm!" cried Thorongil.  "Her words are meant for you, not me.  She means to scare you into getting far enough from me that she can pick you off one by one.  She could live off your company for months - she is quite adept at keeping her prey alive."   
  
The rangers all held their ground, terrified though they were.   
  
"Now who is trying to scare them?" quipped Shelob.  "You learned your master's lessons well."   
  
Thorongil knew time was not on his side.   
  
"How's your belly?" he asked.   
  
"Fine," hissed Shelob, her playful tone instantly turned to genuine anger at the mention of her wound.   
  
"Good," smiled Thorongil.  "I heard you landed on something sharp.  I was robbed of the chance to kill your mother, and was worried a little hobbit had robbed me of you as well."   
  
Shelob foamed at the mouth.   
  
"As I understand it, that mistake cost you a very comfortable position," Thorongil laughed, "as Sauron's  _ pet _ ."   
  
Shelob was not known for her composure.  Ungoliant's eldest daughter was patient and cunning but also proud and vain.  She spread all eight legs on the stone floor and crouched to pounce, hoping to kill as many of the rangers as she could before Thorongil could drive her away.   
  
As soon as her guard was down Thorongil struck.  He threw out his left land and a lightning bolt flashed between Thorongil's palm and Shelob's eyes.  The shockwave of thunder in the tunnel nearly knocked the ranger company off their feet. Shelob screeched and spat as she leapt upwards into a hole in the ceiling and scampered away.  Her eyes would quickly heal but she could not fight Eönwë blind.   
  
"Advance!" shouted Thorongil in pain.  He led them out of the tunnel and the sun was just peeking over the mountains as they began the long descent of the stairs of Cirith Ungol.  Thorongil clutched his left arm as though it were broken.   
  
When they reached the bottom of the stairs a large contingent of Minas Ithil's garrison was waiting for them.  They had heard the crack of thunder. As the captain of the rangers explained what had happened to his men over the past week Thorongil slipped away from the crowd and found Elerína waiting for him with Timothy at her side.   
  
"How is it?" she asked her husband.   
  
"Bad!" he replied.  "Very bad."   
  
Thorongil slowly removed his left gauntlet and the armor on his forearm.  Timothy gasped and stepped away. Thorongil was horribly burnt all across his hand and arm, and a deep gash extended from his palm all down his inner arm to his elbow, exposing muscle and bone.   
  
"You can't do that!" exclaimed Elerína, taking his arm in her hands and beginning to bandage the wounds.  "You could have died!"   
  
"Shelob was twenty feet in front of us," he replied.  "We all could have died."


	7. Elessar

Thorongil and Elerína returned to Minas Tirith in the company of not only Eddil and his companions but also the rangers they had rescued.  They reached The White City after dusk and Captain Miller wanted Thorongil to come with him to see his commanders and possibly the King. Thorongil refused, insisting on going back to the inn at which they were staying and getting a night's sleep.  Miller could not force him to go - ignoring the fact that he owed him his life, he had witnessed Thorongil's power first-hand and had no interest in trying to compel him to do anything under threat of force.   
  
Thorongil and Elerína retired to their room almost immediately after they returned to the inn.  Once away from prying eyes she unwrapped Thorongil's arm and put forth her power. Soon not a mark remained of his wounds.   
  
Eddil went with Caranel to the Houses of Healing and stayed with her that night.  Aldamir and Gram spent a few hours telling Timothy the tale of their adventure. Timothy was especially interested in their encounter with Shelob.  He was well versed in history and knew that Shelob was no beast - she was an ancient spirit of malice and hunger in spider form. Many great warriors had faced her and few lived to tell of it.  That Shelob had traded words with Thorongil and seemed to fear a direct confrontation intrigued the scholar to no end.   
  
" _ I was robbed of the chance to kill your mother _ ," he mused.  "I don't suppose either of you know this, but Shelob's mother was Ungoliant.  I hope that name means something to you."   
  
Aldamir nodded but Gram looked clueless.   
  
"She helped Morgoth destroy the two trees," said Aldamir.   
  
"That doesn't help much," muttered Gram.   
  
"Did the horses eat all the books in Rohan?" exclaimed Timothy.  "Ungoliant was so powerful that at her greatest not even Morgoth could defeat her.  It took an army of Balrogs to drive her from the north."   
  
"Even if it was a great boast, Shelob didn't mock him for it," he continued.  "Who would dare to tell Shelob that they wished they could have faced her mother in battle?"   
  
Neither Aldamir nor Gram had anything to add, so all three retired to their rooms to sleep.   
  
It was after sunrise when Thorongil and Elerína came to the common room for breakfast.  Before they even started their meal two Guards of the Citadel in full armor came into the inn and stood at attention on either side of the door.  After them came a tall man richly dressed. He was Elboron, son of Faramir the Steward, and he was on business of the king. He and his guard walked up to Thorongil's table.   
  
"The King wishes to meet you," he said.   
  
"And I wish to have breakfast," Thorongil replied, half a biscuit in his mouth.   
  
"The King wishes to see you  _ now _ ," Elboron responded after a moment's shock.   
  
"And we would be honored to meet him," said Elerína standing up.   
  
"The King had better be providing breakfast," moaned Thorongil, rising as well.  "I ate almost nothing on that trip to Mordor I took to rescue your rangers."   
  
"I am sure that can be arranged," replied Elboron, unsure how serious Thorongil was.   
  
Elboron and his guard led Thorongil and Elerína up through the city.  It was a long walk and the sun was high in the sky when they reached the seventh level.  Elerína and Thorongil paused hand in hand as they passed the White Tree. As they gazed upon it their home in Valinor did not seem so far away.   
  
They entered the throne room of Minas Tirith.  Aragorn sat upon the great stone seat with several of his counselors at his sides.  Captain Miller of the rangers was present as well.   
  
"After I introduce you you will kneel until told otherwise," said Elboron.   
  
"He won't, but thanks for asking," sighed Elerína.   
  
"Your Majesty, I present Thorongil and Elerína..." proclaimed Elboron.  He said it as though there was more to say, but suddenly realized he knew nothing of them beyond their names.   
  
Elerína knelt and Thorongil bowed his head for a moment.  Aragorn had already heard of Thorongil's daring rescue and confrontation with Shelob.  He knew Thorongil was not be trifled with, but was not encouraged by his defiance.   
  
"In the lands of men it is customary to kneel before the king of whatever land you enter," said Aragorn, "as a sign of respect."   
  
"I have a King, but he is far away," answered Thorongil.  "I did not kneel in Doriath or Arvernien, I do not kneel to Thranduil or Thorin, and I will not kneel here.  If I did not respect you I would not have come at your request."   
  
Elerína cringed.  No king appreciates hearing their commands called requests - and Aragorn II, Elessar of House Telcontar, was no ordinary king.   
  
"I owe you thanks for rescuing ten of my soldiers from Mordor, and I hear that you also aided Bergil in the North," continued the King, beckoning Elerína to rise.  "You have rendered me great services. I am in your debt."   
  
Thorongil nodded respectfully.   
  
"I like to know who it is that I am indebted to," continued Aragorn.  "I know the name 'Thorongil' well, for it once belonged to me. I wish to know your true names and histories."   
  
"I do not think it wise to discuss that, especially in open court," replied Thorongil.  "I have aided your servants where I could, and ask for no reward beyond that which I may need.  I am aid unlooked-for, and thus I should remain."   
  
"You may think it unwise," countered Aragorn sternly, "but in this hall it is the council of Aragorn Telcontar, King of Gondor and the North, which shall prevail."   
  
"And yet they are my secrets to reveal at such time as I see fit," Thorongil replied, not at all intimidated.  "You have no way to compel me, unless you wish to threaten me, who has done you no wrong and aided your people.”

  
Then Thorongil’s voice lowered and with a hint of a smile he added: ”Even if that were your course, do you think you can succeed where Shelob failed?"   
  
For a time neither Aragorn and Thorongil spoke.  Both wished to weigh their next words carefully. Elerína decided this posturing had gone on long enough.   
  
"Gandalf trusted you, and he does not give his trust lightly," she suddenly said, drawing from behind her back a sealed letter.  It was Thranduil's letter explaining who they were. Thorongil stood aghast - he was certain that letter was in his own pack in their room on the first level of the city.  She walked proudly up to the throne and handed the letter to the King, speaking to him in a commanding tone.   
  
"Reveal the contents of this letter to no one - and I mean no one - if you would have our trust as well,” she warned.  The counselors of the king stood in shock; who was she that dared speak to their king in that manner?   
  
Aragorn quickly learned the answer.  He opened the letter and took his time reading it.  Having been a ranger he easily remembered the codes and signs of his ally Thranduil proving its authenticity.  The contents stunned him: Thranduil said in many words that before his throne stood Eönwë and Ilmarë, Manwë and Varda's greatest servants.  He advised him to treat them as royal guests, for they represented Arda's High King and Queen.   
  
After many minutes of reading and thought, Aragorn rose from his high seat.   
  
"Come, we should speak in private," he said softly, beckoning them to follow him into a small sitting room to the right of the throne.  Thorongil and Elerína followed him.   
  
They sat down as Aragorn closed the door behind them.   
  
"Next time you might wish to lead with that sort of note," advised Aragorn.   
  
"I did not think we were going to give that to you yet," muttered Thorongil.   
  
"Sometimes it is best to leave diplomacy to the professionals," Elerína replied.   
  
"Lord Aragorn, it is important that you not depend on us," Thorongil continued.  "I would sooner you think of me as a nuisance than a trusted servant."   
  
"The day may come", Elerína explained, "when we are needed elsewhere, and if you makes plans assuming our aid, that could be disastrous.  We are responsible for all Middle Earth, not only the lands you govern."   
  
"I have worked closely with your kind before," said Aragorn smiling.  "I remember Gandalf well. He shared with me his plans and councils, and trusted me to make my own with as much knowledge as possible.  I hope you will do the same."   
  
"In time, perhaps," replied Elerína.  "We do not have all the answers, and limited foresight can bias judgement.  It is often better to know nothing than hear the theories of another."   
  
"Why have you come to Minas Tirith?" asked the King.   
  
"Because we both feel we will be needed here first," said Elerína.   
  
"I do not know if I should be glad or worried by your presence," laughed Aragorn.   
  
"Do not be afraid on our account," she replied.  "When the time draws nearer, we will say more."   
  
"You will need a place to live," said Aragorn.  "Would you like to stay here, on the seventh level?"  There are some well furnished rooms in the front of this building which rarely see use."   
  
Thorongil was not enthusiastic about staying so close to the King.  He feared that it would create the appearance of favoritism and that they would be far from the troubles of common men.  Elerína disagreed, saying that that it would be easier to gather news from distant lands and coordinate their efforts with Gondor and Arnor's elite.  Both were right, and they argued back and forth in the mysterious tongue of the Ainur as Aragorn led them up to the second floor of the palace and into a beautifully furnished guest room.  It was truly fit for a king; it was meant for visiting monarchs. Ilmarë was almost impressed.   
  
"We really shouldn't accept this," Thorongil began.  Elerína pulled back the curtain over the room's window and gasped.  The Fountain of the White Tree was clearly visible from the window.   
  
"You can do as you wish, but I will be sleeping here, by the King's leave and great generosity," she said excitedly.   
  
"We are honored to have you," answered Aragorn with a bow.  "Is there anything else you need?"   
  
"I assume you will be sending a sortie to retake Cirith Ungol?" inquired Thorongil.   
  
The King nodded.  "Eventually. You don't like to leave a job half finished, do you?"   
  
"No sir.”   
  
"Strategic briefings are at ten in the morning," said Aragorn.  "Shall I send a runner for you?"   
  
"Please do," Thorongil replied with a grin.   
  
Aragorn gave his guests the proper passphrases to move about the city and issued the appropriate orders to his guards. Thorongil and a few guards of the Citadel went down to retrieve the maiar's belongings from the inn where they had stayed. Timothy noted that Thorongil's arm seemed to have healed.   
  
That night they slept in what Elerína considered a proper bed for the first time since Thranduil's Halls.  The Guard of the Citadel on duty in the courtyard that night swore the next morning that the White Tree seemed to glow faintly of its own accord, and the stars shone a little brighter over The White City.


	8. Threads Intertwined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! Today I let my brother use one of my precious Fëanoriel characters. A certain redhead.

Thorongil and Elerína slept late into the morning, safe and comfortable in the heart of the Tower of Guard. Thorongil slipped out of their room a bit before ten to meet the runner sent to fetch him. He was eager to meet Gondor's commanders and work among soldiers again. It had been more than six millennia since he last led men into battle.

He joined the King and his commanders in a room behind the throne with only a massive stone table and many oak chairs. At the head of the table sat Aragorn. Several maps of Gondor and the lands about hung on the walls. From here the kings and stewards of Gondor had planned the movements of their armies through countless years of war.

Aragorn's generals paid Thorongil little mind. Some had heard of his meeting with Shelob, but they did not see why this entitled him to hear their strategies. They certainly did not want his advice. Thorongil for his part said nothing. He knew the value of speaking last if at all. He sat quietly and learned the deployments of Gondor's forces.

On the matter of Cirith Ungol Aragorn asked him to speak. He reported what he knew of the enemy force: it was at least one hundred and fifty strong and was only part of an unknown force under the command of a sorceress of unknown origin or intent. It was the consensus of the generals that they not attack until they knew more of their enemy and could mount an effective defense of the tower after they took it. Thorongil offered no advice on the matter. He thought they should make some response while Shelob was injured and hopefully before the orcs received reinforcements. Even if they could muster only a small sortie, it would be a sign of weakness to do nothing.

"Alright, you are dismissed," said Aragorn after hearing all there was to hear. "Not you, Fëalas. Thorongil, remain as well."

Fëalas was currently serving as the commander of all the rangers stationed in central Gondor. She had offered no opinion on the Cirith Ungol situation.

"You were awfully quiet," said the King to his niece.

"You know what I think," she replied. "We should send a sortie, if only to fly the flag. We should do it while Shelob is injured and before the orcs can recover."

Thorongil nodded in agreement.

"Tell Captain Anders I have a mission for him," ordered the King. "And take Thorongil with you to see your barracks."

Fëalas led Thorongil swiftly out of the palace and down to the sixth level. They went to a large building and stepped into what looked like a great feasting hall. Rows of wooden tables and benches lined the room. Hanging on the walls were huge paintings of great battles of the Rangers' past.

"Captain!" shouted the first ranger to see the King's niece. The hall immediately went silent as a library.

"First Rangers, second company - travelling gear!" said Fëalas softly. Fifty or so men leapt from their benches and rushed out of the room to find their gear. A young man ran up to her and stood at attention.

"The King wants to see you, Captain," said Fëalas with a tight smile and a nod.

Thorongil returned to the seventh level with Captain Anders. The King was waiting for them by the fountain.

"Captain Anders, you are going to Mordor," said the King.

"Yes sir!" replied Anders, clearly excited at the prospect.

"This is Thorongil," the King continued. "He'll be going with you."

"For what purpose sir?"

"He's an experienced soldier," replied Aragorn. "Trust his judgement."

Aragorn ordered Captain Anders to investigate the situation at Cirith Ungol and if an opportunity presented itself to attack the enemy. He knew Anders well; he was a man who would make his own opportunity. They were to leave before dawn the next day.

While Thorongil was recapturing his youth as a soldier, Elerína wandered about the palace and the Citadel Court outside. She meandered into a garden and stared up at the sky.

"I require more paper," said a feminine voice. Elerína looked briefly and saw a tall woman sitting on a stone bench writing something on parchment.

"Now, Miss," it said after a moment.

"Do I look like a servant to you," replied Elerína, realizing the woman spoke to her.

"I don't know who you are," answered the woman, "but in this city I will be addressed with the respect owed my station."

"And what station is that?" asked Elerína.

"I am Amdirien, eldest daughter of the King," she replied.

Elerína lowered her gaze from the sky. She had erred, and she knew it.

"Forgive me, m'lady," she said. "Where might I find said paper?"

"Ask one of the servants inside," replied Amdirien.

Elerína returned to the house. "Less than a year ago I had the Vanyar and the Noldor competing for my attention," she mumbled to herself in her own tongue.

When she returned with paper a few minutes later Amdirien was slowly backing towards the door to the palace. Before her in the garden stood a great eagle of the mountains.

"It's about time you showed up," shouted Elerína. The animal bowed its head in shame. He had come as fast as he could and did not understand that Elerína's words were meant for Amdirien to hear and not a genuine criticism.

Amdirien stood speechless as Elerína handed her the paper.

"Who are you?" asked the princess.

"Elerína."

"I heard about your meeting with my father," said Amdirien.

Elerína made no response, forcing Amdirien to continue.

"Where are you from?"

"The west," answered Elerína.

"Can you be more specific?"

"Do I have your word that you will speak of it to no one but your father?"

Amdirien paused. She was not accustomed to others making demands of her. "Very well," she said at last.

"I am from  _The_  West," whispered Elerína. "Across the sea."

"Were it not for my father's strange response to your letter I wouldn't believe you," gasped Amdirien. "Does my father know more of you and your purpose?"

"What I have or have not shared with your father is itself a matter of secrecy," Elerína replied.

"You don't make it easy to trust you," Amdirien sighed. "But I suppose you don't need my trust, do you?"

Elerína smiled, but the words stung. "An astute observation," she said in a softer tone. "What is it you were writing?"

The poor eagle in the courtyard stretched it wings, still awaiting its Mistress's attention.

"I'll be with you in a moment," shouted the maia.

"I am writing a speech," explained the princess. "I am to travel to Dol Amroth to host an annual festival celebrating winter."

Elerína tilted her head in confusion. "Winter?"

"It is something of a new year's celebration," Amdirien explained. "They hold it a few weeks late so that people can attend festivities in other cities and then their own."

Elerína laughed. "Let me help you with that. I have some experience writing speeches, both for myself and for others. But first, you should meet the eagle."

Amdirien hesitated. Elerína put her arm around her shoulder and led the princess up to the magnificent creature.

"You should not be afraid of the eagles," she said. "They are the guardians of your skies. They are Manwë's eyes and Eönwë's talons."

"They are also exceedingly large," objected the princess, shaking her head as Elerína inched her towards the bird. "And they do not love mortal men, save when we are beyond all aid but theirs. If tales are to be believed they are proud, mysterious, and aloof - not unlike their masters, it would seem."

Elerína smiled; at last, a sharp tongue to match her own. "You take after your great-grandmother."

"Which one?" asked Amdirien proudly.

Elerína rolled her eyes. "Galadriel; Elwing was quiet and humble."

The great eagle lowered his head as they came up to him so that they stood eye to eye. Elerína took Amdirien's hand in hers and ran it down the eagles beak and through his feathers.

"See," she said, "flesh and blood, just like you."

"Does it have a name?" asked Amdirien.

"I most certainly do!" exclaimed the bird. "Though you could not pronounce it."

Amdirien leapt back in amazement.

"You will address the daughter of the King with more respect," snapped Elerína. The eagle looked away. His instincts and Elerína's force of will compelled him to obey her, but this was not how he had intended to spend such a beautiful morning.

Elerína spoke quickly to the bird in the tongue of the Ainur. It understood her commands though it could not speak the language of its makers. As it flew off to its eyrie high in the mountains Amdirien watched in awe.

"What did you tell it?" asked Amdirien. "Unless that is also a secret."

"I asked him to gather his kin on Mindolluin," she replied, "and to make sure one of their kind is always present in case I have need of them."

"Beautiful, aren't they?" said a voice just behind Amdirien. She spun round, terribly startled. Thorongil was looking up at the eagle.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!" exclaimed the princess.

Thorongil only cackled. He and Elerína then spoke at length in their own tongue. Amdirien waited patiently but uncomfortably for them to finish. She often took advantage of the educated's knowledge of Quenya when conversing in the company of common men. She was not used to being the one unable to understand the speech of others.

After they finished speaking Thorongil went swiftly back into the palace. Elerína and Amdirien followed at a more comfortable pace.

"Let's take a look at that speech," said the maia.

A level below the palace, in the houses of healing, Caranel lay with Eddil sitting by her side, her hand in his. Gram, Aldamir, and Timothy were just arriving to see her. She still could not walk; she could barely sit up.

"What do the healers say?" asked Gram.

"That I will probably live," said Caranel faintly. "As to a recovery, they promise nothing. They say I might never walk again."

"Maybe you should ask that maia friend of yours for help," said Aldamir to Timothy.

"It can't hurt," sighed Eddil.

Timothy nodded. "I will, but I have another idea, a more practical one. Did any of you notice how terrible Thorongil's arm looked when he returned from Shelob's Lair?"

"He held it like it was broken," recalled Aldamir. "We couldn't see the wound through that creepy black armor he suddenly was wearing. Where did that come from anyway?"

"I'm working on that too," said Timothy. "But back to the matter at hand - I did get a look at the wounds, and I have never seen their like. Terrible burns and a deep cut. I could see bone!"

"Your point?" asked Aldamir.

"He looked just fine carrying his things out of the inn last night," replied Timothy. "If he were human, I think he would have lost the arm, or at least all use of it."

"Just because he can heal himself doesn't mean he can heal others," sighed Eddil.

"Ah, but I don't think he did heal himself," Timothy proudly explained. "remember how strongly he objected to going to ranger basecamp with Miller on the first night home? He still looked hurt."

"It isn't called 'ranger basecamp,' it is Faramir Hall," interrupted Caranel.

"Ranger basecamp sounds better," laughed Gram. Caranel only shook her head.

"So you think Elerína healed him?" deduced Aldamir.

"Brilliant, Aldamir," Timothy replied.

"How do we find her?" asked Eddil. "I heard that they are now guests of the King."

"I'd recommend asking around ranger basecamp," said Timothy with a giggle.

"You'd better hope I don't recover!" laughed Caranel with a shake of her fist.

Timothy put his hand on her shoulder. "If there is a way to help you, we'll find it."

Eddil and Timothy went to Faramir Hall and were warmly greeted. Eddil was well known to the rangers of Caranel's company. Unfortunately Fëalas was elsewhere so no one there could take them to the palace.

Aldamir took a different approach. He went to his father, a wealthy merchant and a man of high birth, who was permitted onto the seventh level. That proved to be only half the battle, however, as Elerína was inside the palace and Aldamir's father could not enter without the invitation of the King. Fortunately he saw Thorongil and Captain Anders walking through the Fountain Court.

"Thorongil!" he shouted, rushing up to them.

Captain Anders was unhappy to be interrupted in this manner, as he and his mysterious new ally planned their sorté into the Land of Shadow.

"Caranel is not healing well," Aldamir hurriedly explained. "Timothy thought perhaps you or your wife could help her?"

"I can do nothing," replied Thorongil. "I will ask Elerína if she can help her."

"Thank you for anything you can do," said Aldamir as he left.

"If there is anything your wife can do, please have her do it," Anders interjected. "Caranel is a great ranger. We trained together."

"I am sure Elerína will help if she can," nodded Thorongil.

That night, Elerína slipped into the houses of healing. She reached Caranel's room unseen but found it quite occupied. Caranel lay in tears, Eddil holding her hand and Timothy holding his carven stone, praying to Ilmarë and Estë.

"I can't feel my legs anymore," she sobbed. "The healers say I will never walk again."

"Can you help her?" asked Timothy.

"I don't know," Elerína replied. "If I do, you must tell no one of it."

No one said a word.

"I mean it," she said sternly. "Do you understand? You must speak to no one of anything regarding this - not the King, not your friends, no one!"

"We understand," they all replied in unison.

"Then stand aside," sighed the maia.

She stepped up alongside the wounded ranger. With a single mysterious word Caranel fell asleep. Elerína's hand at first looked perfectly natural, but as she placed it on Caranel's chest it seemed to glow from within. After a few minutes she stepped away and sat on a small bench, feigning fatigue.

After a few more minutes Caranel sat up, not sure where she was. As she regained her wits she gasped. She could not only feel her legs, they felt strong.

"Don't get up," cautioned Elerína, "it will take time for your strength to return."

"Thank you!" wept the young Ranger.

Elerína rose and embraced her.

"I've given you a second chance," she whispered. "Don't waste it!"

She swore them all to secrecy, and insisted they swear Aldamir and Gram to the same when they learned of Caranel's miraculous recovery. Timothy slipped his stone back into his pocket as she left. Elerína smiled. Perhaps someday she could tell him who she was.


	9. We're Supposed to be Surrounded

Before sunrise the next morning Thorongil gathered his gear.  He wore his black armor under a cloak he had taken from the Rangers' armory.  He carried a metallic black bow to match. His sword hung at his side, and beneath his cloak eight small daggers sat in hoops on his belt.  On his back sat a quiver of mithril tipped arrows.   
  
Elerína saw him off.  She was sad at the parting, and she felt guilty that he went off to war while she was scheduled to attend a festival with the King's eldest daughter.    
  
"I wish I could go with you," she said.   
  
Thorongil laughed merrily.  "If you truly believe that now, you wouldn't believe it after the first night sleeping on cold stone or sharp gravel!"   
  
"That isn't funny," she replied.  "I would go with you if you asked."   
  
Thorongil turned his gaze Eastward.  "The hour when our power will be tested is not yet come," he said, realizing she was genuinely troubled.  "Until the Prince's company returns we must prepare in our own ways. You should not come with me."   
  
She walked with him to the front gate of the city where the company was assembling.  Forty-five of Gondor's finest were saddling their horses. Not a man looked unhappy though they knew the task before them.  Elerína kissed her husband goodbye before he mounted his black horse.   
  
"What are you?" she asked him, as she always did before he went forth to battle.   
  
"A predator," he replied in as menacing a tone as he could muster as his eyes flashed dimly red.  In truth Elerína was disheartened by how unintimidating he appeared - she could see how little of his ancient power his mortal frame now held.  He looked now to be but a faint reflection of the maia who had been the most terrifying of his kind - a storm of fire and fury which even Morgoth feared to face, and men of the East worshipped as the god of war and death.   
  
Thorongil rode beside Captain Anders.  They spoke little. The men behind them sang songs and told stories of battle.  They rode into the Vale of Sorcery at sundown.   
  
"Two hours to prepare, six hours of rest!" cried Anders to his men.  "We climb the stairs before dawn, to attack with the sun high in the sky."   
  
Some of the men practiced with their bows at a range in Minas Ithil while other sparred outside.  Thorongil joined the rangers practicing with blunt swords and quickly had beaten them all. Captain Anders, who sat with his Lieutenants, came to face him himself.   
  
"You might want to bring your other officers," teased Thorongil.   
  
"Beat me first, then we shall see," the captain replied.   
  
The rangers of Anders' company were among the finest soldiers in all Middle Earth.  Anders himself stood apart even among them. Thorongil could not beat him with clever trickery as he had the others, but his speed and strength overpowered the mortal within a minute.   
  
"What are you?" shouted one of the rangers.  "Not even Círeth can best our captain that quickly, and she has elven blood."   
  
Thorongil gave no answer.   
  
In the wee hours of the morning they climbed the steps to the entrance to Shelob's Lair.  The rangers lit torches for the passage of the tunnel. Thorongil drew his sword and cut many of Shelob's webs as they went.  He laughed as he did so - she would be furious. He thought it unlikely the spider had recovered, and even if she had the company of rangers was too large and well trained for her to easily attack.   
  
It was mid-morning when they caught their first glimpse of the tower of Cirith Ungol.  Captain Anders sent scouts ahead to check the situation at the main gate. They reported it open, with only two sentries on the wall.   
  
Captain Anders quickly organized their assault.  Fifteen of his men under the command of Lt. Carter returned to the tunnel to attack by the back door.  The remaining thirty would attack through the main gate. When the time came for their assault, Anders led the charge.   
  
Their assault on the main gate began with two well place arrows taking down the only guards on the castle wall.  Anders himself tried to lead the charge through the gate, but he was rebuffed by an invisible barrier blocking their entry.  He and the men at his side ran headlong into it, and were sent tumbling back into the rangers behind them. The silent watchers Sam had faced on his quest to free his master so many years ago had been repaired.   
  
Thorongil strode confidently up to the mysterious unseen wall and placed his hands gingerly upon it.  He uttered an ancient incantation which had not been heard in Middle Earth since the Lord of The Nazgúl broke the gates of Minas Tirith.  The three headed statues on either side of the barrier shrieked in pain. The barrier was broken, and the rangers flooded into the courtyard beyond.   
  
The orcs within were wholly unprepared for the attack.  Thorongil charged into their midst, cutting down many as he went.  Behind him came the rangers, who quickly took a formation ten across and three deep.  Those in front knelt, and all drew their bows. The orcs had hardly noticed them when thirty arrows were loosed and nearly as many orcs fell.   
  
The orcs charged the rangers who had time for one more volley before a melee ensued.  Behind the orcs, out of the door to the central tower, came a massive Olag-hai troll. It wore a suit of plate armor leaving nothing exposed.  Thorongil drew his black bow and fit an arrow to the string. It was a perfect shot, right into the eye slit of the helmet.   
  
The arrow bounced off.   
  
As the beast lumbered on, Carter and his rangers rushed out of a door onto the wall that ringed the courtyard.  Immediately they launched a hail arrows at the beast to no effect. Seeing that they were accomplishing nothing they began picking off the orcs.   
  
"Finally, something interesting," grinned Thorongil.  He tossed his sword to his left hand and drew one of his knives.  He threw it well, and it struck the beast in the chest. There was a small flash like fire and the beast roared in pain.  It fell to one knee, the dagger half embedded in its armor.   
  
It swatted the dagger from its chest and continued its advance.   
  
"Inconceivable!" exclaimed Thorongil.  He held his sword aloft and the runes glowed brightly.  Flames wrapped round the blade as he lowered it and walked towards the monster.   
  
"Let's see your armor stop this," he muttered.  The beast swung its massive iron club, cracking the stone beside Thorongil who easily dodged the blow.  Putting his foot on the weapon he leapt upwards and thrust his sword into the troll's neck. His blade passed through the steel like a hot knife through butter.   
  
It was a great plan - up until the moment the armored colossus fell on top of him.  By the time he had pushed the mass of steel and dead troll off his chest the rangers had killed the remaining orcs.  Captain Anders helped him to his feet.   
  
"I don't know what we would have done without you," he said, looking at the iron clad corpse.   
  
Thorongil only moaned in pain.  He removed the troll’s helmet to inspect the eye slits.  They were covered in some sort of glass. A small crack was the only damage his arrow had done.   
  
"This must have been Sauron's work," he said.   
  


A ranger handed Thorongil the dagger he had thrown at the troll.  "I believe this is yours. I don't suppose you could tell me where to get one?"   
  
"I don't think anyone with the skill to make these remains on this side of the sea," he replied.   
  
Teams of rangers cleared the castle hallway by hallway, room by room.  They found a few cowering orcs which they quickly dispatched. There were still a few hours of sunlight remaining when the ranger company assembled in the courtyard.   
  
They had three wounded from the battle.  Captain Anders sent them back through the tunnel with seven other rangers.  The remaining thirty-five set off down the road into Mordor. They soon reached a crossroads, and Anders ordered the company to halt.  He ordered Lt. Carter to take four men north and his second lieutenant, a man named Eänur, to take four men east. They both were ordered to return within the hour.   
  
Within fifteen minutes Eänur and his squad came sprinting back.   
  
"Hundreds of orcs!" he cried.  "They march this way!"   
  
Captain Anders did not hesitate for a moment.   
  
"Eänur, lead the company home!" he cried.  "Report our success to the commander of Minas Ithil and send word to Minas Tirith.  Warn them of the approaching army. I think it unlikely, but they may intend to march through to Minas Ithil tonight.  If they do, you will defend that city as long as the garrison commander sees fit. Go!"   
  
Every man in the company knew what Anders intended, and all would have preferred to go with him.  They also knew it would be foolish, so they reluctantly followed their orders and made haste back up to the tunnel's entrance.  Thorongil followed Anders swiftly up the northern road.

 

“You didn't have to come,” said Anders.  “The King would probably prefer…”

 

“Yes, he probably would,” interrupted Thorongil.  “But I don't like to leave men behind.”   
  
It was about twenty minutes later when they found Carter's men.  At the sight of Anders their hearts froze - they knew they must be trapped.  They had seen signs that orcs had been using the road, so the route north likely led to peril as well.  They found a small cave on the western side of the road and stopped to think. Anders told them of the army to the south.   
  
"So we're surrounded?" asked the youngest and least experienced of the rangers.   
  
"We're Rangers," smiled Anders.  "We're supposed to be surrounded."


	10. Sorcery and Sudden Sunshine

Elerína returned to the citadel after Thorongil rode off on his second adventure to Mordor.  That day and the next she spent working with Amdirien on her speech, as well as getting to know many of the nobles who came to the palace.  At morning on the third day a messenger came to the palace. He was Eänur, of Anders’ company, and he brought news both good and ill. He was taken straight to the throne room, where Elerína happened to be.

 

“Your Majesty,” began Eänur kneeling before the throne, “I bring a report from Captain Anders.”

 

“Proceed, Lieutenant,” said the King.

 

“We engaged the enemy on the morning after we departed, sir.  We took the castle with little difficulty, save an armored troll which Thorongil slew.  We sent back our wounded - only three sir, plus an escort of seven - and proceeded to advance into Mordor.  We reached a crossroads, and sent five each north and east to scout. I was on the eastern patrol. My men and I came across a great force of orcs marching towards us along the road - I reckon two hundred and fifty strong at least - and retreated before them.  At Captain Anders’ orders I led the company back while he went after the northern scouting party. Thorongil went with him also. My men remain under the command of the garrison commander at Minas Ithil, in case the orcs march against them.”

 

Elerína left the Palace of the King and went to sit near the Fountain Court and the White Tree.  Later that day Amdirien asked her father where her new friend might be found.

 

“She sits by the fountain,” sighed Aragorn.  “Her husband is missing in Mordor with six of our rangers.”

 

Amdirien went outside and sat beside Elerína.

 

“Do you desire my company?” Amdirien asked.

 

“I should have gone with him,” Elerína muttered.  She stared absentmindedly Eastward - or so the mortal princess believed.  The long leagues from Minas Tirith to Mordor and the Mountains of Shadow could not keep her husband from her sight.

 

“I sometimes think the same of my brother, who is long away,” said the princess, sitting down next to the maia and putting her hand on her shoulder.  “But I know that both he and I are better served with me here. If the stories I hear are true, I think it is Mordor that should be worried about your husband being trapped there, not you.”

 

Elerína blushed.  There was more truth to the lady’s words than she knew.

 

“I leave for Dol Amroth this evening,” she continued.  “Will you come with me?”

 

“I don't feel like celebrating,” moaned Elerína.

 

“Surely you want to hear your speech?”

 

Elerína laughed and nodded.  “This is true. I suppose it may be weeks before my husband returns, and there is nothing I can do for him here.  I’ll gather my things. I will travel separately, if you don't mind. Best not to be seen riding with your entourage.”

 

“Afraid of looking like a servant?” teased the Princess.

 

“Yes, but not in the way you think,” Elerína replied.  “My husband is worried about appearing neutral among the major powers of Middle Earth.  Also, I would rather not have everyone wondering who I am.”

  
  


Down on the first level of Minas Tirith Eddil and his friends were preparing to journey to the same festival.

 

“It was nice of captain Miller to let you take leave,” said Eddil to Caranel.

 

“He didn't ‘let’ me, he made me,” she replied.  “They still can't believe I could possibly be healthy enough to travel, let alone battle ready.”

 

“Have you ever been to the winter festival?” asked Aldamir.

 

“Of course I have,” she answered.  “I met Eddil there four years ago!”

 

“Have you been to Dol Amroth, Gram?” inquired Timothy.

 

“No,” he answered.  “But I am glad we are going.  My grandfather used to tell me stories of Prince Imrahil and his knights.  He fought beside them on the Pelennor, and at the Black Gate.”

 

“There is usually a parade,” said Eddil, “so perhaps you can see the knights as they are today.”

 

“Would you mind if I travel with you?” asked Elerína, joining them at their table.

 

“Of course not!” exclaimed Caranel.  The others added their agreement.

 

“Is Thorongil coming?” asked Timothy.

 

“Thorongil is in Mordor,” Elerína replied.  “He and six of your rangers are trapped behind an orc host.”

 

“I hope my heroic rescuer doesn't need a rescue,” laughed Caranel.

 

“Hey, it was a team effort,” objected Eddil.  Aldamir also voiced an objection.

 

“No, I quite clearly recall that all the  _ rescuing _ was done by Thorongil,” said Caranel matter-of-factly.  “What you did is called  _ being rescued _ .”

 

“Well your new dashing hero is already taken,” laughed Gram, nodding to Elerína.  “So a trip to the festival with Eddil will have to do.”

 

“Do you by chance know the names of the rangers trapped with him?” asked Caranel, ignoring their teasing.

 

“Captain Anders leads them,” answered Elerína.

 

“If anyone can lead them home, it's Anders,” said Caranel.  “He is the finest man I ever served with, and he would rather die than leave a single man behind.”

 

“He, by the way, is not taken,” she added with a wink to Eddil.

  
  


The journey to Dol Amroth took a week.  Hundreds of men, women, and children travelled together.  Amdirien rode at the head of the company with a handmaiden on either side.  Around them rode twelve Guards of the Citadel in sea blue cloaks, made only for the Princess’s guard.  Behind the royal guard came a few noble families, and behind them rode Elerína and her friends along with the rest of the common folk.

 

They arrived at the gates of Dol Amroth the night before the festivities were to begin.  Elerína made her way up to the Prince of Dol Amroth’s palace and joined Amdirien in time for dinner.  Elphir, the current prince of the coastal city, hosted the royal party.

 

“Where is Alphros?” Amdirien asked the Prince.

 

“Preparing for the festival, I am sure,” said Elphir.  “With the Prince and his company gone he thinks he can win this year.  I shall send for him at once...”

 

“Do not disturb her on my account,” said Amdirien.

 

“Who is your companion?” he asked, looking to Elerína.

 

“She is an honored guest of my Father,” the Princess replied.  “She came to us from the Grey Havens by way of Thranduil's folk.”

 

That night Elerína slept in a small guest room in the Prince's palace.  It was not so nicely furnished as her room in Minas Tirith, but the architectural style of Dol Amroth was heavily influenced by the city’s elven heritage.  She slept easily, looking forward to the Princess’s speech scheduled for the next morning.

 

The sun had hardly risen when she was woken by Amdirien.

 

“M’lady?” she said.  “M'lady, please wake up.”

 

“What is it, child?” mumbled the maia, barely awake.

 

“Child?” laughed Amdirien.  “Even by the reckoning of the Dunedain I am not a child.”

 

Elerína sat up and saw that they were alone.  “I’m older than mankind, Amdirien.”

 

“Well in all those years did you learn how to stop a rainstorm?” asked the Princess.

 

Elerína suddenly noticed the loud noise of rain buffeting her window.  It was quite a storm.

 

Elerína rubbed her eyes.  “I really should not.”

 

“A downpour on the first day of the festival - the people will be so disappointed,” pleaded Amdirien.

 

“Yes indeed, one in particular,” laughed Elerína.  “One with a speech scheduled for about two hours from now.”

 

The Princess laughed.  “I’m people too!” 

 

“What makes you think I can help you?”

 

“Two mysterious visitors from Valinor arrive on our doorstep, and one goes off and drives away the great spider with lightning from his hand,” said Amdirien dramatically.  “I wager his proud and beautiful wife has powers of her own.”

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” replied Elerína with a roll of her eyes - but a bit of a blush.

 

“It can’t hurt,” Amdirien sighed.  “It certainly works on me.”

 

Elerína felt some pity for Amdirien.  In Valinor it never rained on her own public appearances - so much so that ‘it never rains on her parades’ had become a common expression.  She saw something of herself in the young Princess of Gondor: a natural born leader with no throne to take, assuming Prince Eldarion returned from the east.

 

“If I succeed you must tell no one of it - especially my husband,” said Elerína.  “He would not understand the importance.”

 

“Thank you so much!” exclaimed Amdirien.

 

“Keep your voice down, and don't thank me yet,” replied Elerína.  “If this were Ilmarin or Tirion it would be easy, but the winds of Middle Earth are strange to me.”

 

Amdirien left Elerína to do her work, feeling even more certain that she was one of the Ainur - immortal spirits of power such as Gandalf or Sauron.  Even the lesser among them had powers that mortal men called magic.

 

An hour before Amdirien’s speech was scheduled to occur a great wind came from the north and pushed the storm out to sea.  Those visiting Dol Amroth shouted praises to the heavens - mostly thanking Uinen, Manwë or Ulmo - that their drinking and feasting would start on time.  A few noted that this also meant they could attend the Princess’s appearance, but for most this was decidedly an afterthought.

 

The speech itself was a great success.  It was succinct, uplifting, and praised Dol Amroth generously.  Most importantly it was short, which those eagerly awaiting the opening of the festivities appreciated.  After her speech Amdirien spent hours mingling with the nobility of the city and visitors from every corner of Gondor.  Elerína was impressed by Amdirien’s charisma, but had no time to tell her that morning. She went and stood alone on a balcony of the palace, watching carefully to ensure the storm she had sent south did not harm mariners at sea.


	11. Mordor

Thorongil, Captain Anders, and Carter’s scouting party sat in the small cave they had found by the wayside.

 

“Orders, Captain?” inquired Carter.

 

Both Anders and Thorongil began to speak.

 

Thorongil blushed.  “Sorry, Captain.”

 

“Please, go on,” replied Anders.

 

“You and I made no effort to cover our tracks,” said Thorongil.  “We should immediately move north or east with more caution, in case we are followed.’

 

Anders nodded.  “I agree. Let's move!”

 

The seven soldiers then moved with deliberate speed north along the road for six hours, making an effort to cover their tracks.  They found another cave and made camp for the night. It was uncomfortably cold but both Thorongil and Anders insisted that no fires be lit.  Mordor was technically under Gondorian rule but it was clear that they were in enemy territory. Captain Anders took the first watch. Four hours later Thorongil rose to relieve him.

 

Captain Anders stared uneasily out into the darkness.  “There is a garrison at the ruins of the Black Gate, but it is three hard days away even if we pass unhindered.  We will need food and water, and Mordor is a barren land.”

 

“Some streams must run down off the mountains,” muttered Thorongil.

 

“None do,” said Carter, who had stepped up behind them.  “I have marched this road before. It was used for training a few years ago.”

 

At first light the next morning the company marched north.  A few hundred yards ahead of the company, bow in hand, strode Thorongil.  They found nothing interesting that day. When night fell they were unable to find a cave, so they made camp on the western side of the road behind some large rocks.

 

It was nearly sunrise when the ranger on watch woke the company.  “To arms! Enemies to the south.”

 

They hid behind the rocks beside which they had slept.  It was scarcely twenty yards between their hiding place and the side of the road.  To the six mortals the approaching force was nothing but a dark shape on the horizon, but Thorongil could see them in detail.

 

“They are at least two hundred strong,” he said.  “At the front march two trolls in the same armor as the one we faced at Cirith Ungol.  Between the trolls rides a woman dressed in red with a scepter in her hand.”

 

“She must be the witch Captain Miller reported his captors spoke of,” Anders thought aloud.

 

Thorongil ducked behind the rocks as the witch’s army came nearer.  As the host passed close beside them the rangers struggled to keep even the noise of their breathing to a minimum.  Most of the rangers silently cursed the wind from the east that brought the stench of the orcs over the rocks, but Anders thanked Manwë for it - the alternative would have been much worse.  

Orcs have a keen sense of the smell.

 

The company waited in hiding for at least half an hour after the last sound of marching feet.  Thorongil peeked out and gave the all clear signal. They were about to resume their northward journey - far more cautiously with the host ahead of them - when Thorongil spotted more orcs to the south.  The rangers franticly returned to their hiding place.

 

“You know, there is a big map in Faramir Hall that labels Mordor as ‘secure,’” laughed Carter.

 

“Looks pretty secure to me, sir,” replied a ranger.  “Securely in enemy hands.”

 

Thorongil peered over the rocks to count the enemy host.  “I make it twenty-three orcs.”

 

“There is no point in fighting them,” Carter said.

 

Thorongil disagreed.  “They might carry water.”

 

“He's right,” sighed Anders.  He was loath to fight outnumbered more than three to one this far from help, but thirst was the more dangerous enemy.

 

“Fight cautiously,” warned Anders as they prepared their ambush.  “We are far from any healers.”

 

When the orcs were just beside the rocks the rangers sprang their trap.  Leaping out at them suddenly they killed many with their arrows before swords clashed.  It all went well until a particularly clever uruk-hai feigned injury and the youngest of the rangers came at it recklessly for a killing blow.  As the ranger lifted his sword high in the air the orc punched him square in the face. The ranger would have fallen to the ground but the orc grabbed him and held him as a human shield, a knife to his neck.

 

The remaining orcs fell swiftly.  The uruk holding the ranger backed away from the fighting.  “His life for mine!” it roared.

 

The situation was complicated.  If let free the orc would likely warn his compatriots, and even if they did agree to the deal the orc would expect some guarantee of his freedom - most likely he would keep the ranger hostage for some time.

 

While Captain Anders pondered his options Thorongil shot the orc dead in the eye.  So fine was the shot that it slid along the rangers face as if flew, leaving a line of blood across his cheek.

 

The orc fell dead and the ranger fell clutching his face.  ”What if you had missed?” he screamed.

 

“Then you would be dead,” Thorongil replied.  “But I don't miss.”

 

“I don't miss,” repeated the ranger in a mocking, exaggerated tone.

 

“We need to move!” shouted Captain Anders.  “Search the bodies!”

 

The rangers searched the orcs and to their relief found many waterskins.  The seven fugitives then resumed their march northwards. Captain Anders joined Thorongil fifty yards ahead of the other five.

 

“Next time you wait for my command,” he said sternly.

 

Thorongil shook his head.  “If you gave the command he would have killed your man.”

 

Anders had no answer to that.

 

“I'd be upset too if someone put one of my men’s live in jeopardy, but I assure you I was not going to miss,” said Thorongil.

 

“You do not want one my men's blood on your hands,” warned Anders.

 

Thorongil reached down and picked up a pebble.  He handed it to Captain Anders and drew his bow.  “Throw it ahead of us.”

 

The captain did so and Thorongil shot it with his arrow.

 

“Again,” he said, handing Anders another shard of gravel and placing another arrow on the string.

 

After a few more demonstrations left a few more arrows dotting the road ahead, Anders’ mind was more at ease.

 

“I don't suppose you are looking for a job?” he joked.

 

“I seem to have one,” laughed Thorongil, stooping to retrieve an arrow.  “I rescue Gondor’s rangers.”

 

That night the rangers found a cave and slept soundly, or as soundly as you can in Mordor.  The next morning Anders roused them early, intent on reaching the ruins of the Isenmouthe in a single march.

 

It was two hours before noon when they came upon a fork in the road.

 

“That road leads to Durthang,” pointed Anders.  He picked up the broken remains of a bottle. “And it looks like it has been well travelled of late.”

 

“Durthang was a fortress of Men,” said Thorongil.  “Like Cirith Ungol, the destruction of The Ring did not harm it, so it makes sense that our enemies would choose it as their stronghold.”

 

“It's near impregnable,” added Carter.  “We marched there in training and every man marvelled at the height of its walls.”

 

The rangers examined the roads and concluded that most of the orcs in the host preceding them had turned for Durthang, while the horse, the trolls, and at most twenty uruk-hai had continued north.

 

As the sun set behind the mountains of shadow the rangers came within view of the Isenmouthe - the ruins of Sauron's second line of defense behind the Black Gate.  The last rays of the sun could be seen along the wreckage of the once mighty wall and two mighty towers marking the only gate through it. Here the road diverged. One path led north-west, to the Black Gate and presumably a Gondorian garrison with food and drink.  The other went dead east, a wide and well trodden road leading to the ruins of Barad-dúr. It was along that road that the witch and her guard had marched.

 

As Thorongil gazed eastward Captain Anders stepped up alongside him.  “You wish to pursue them?” he whispered.

 

Thorongil nodded.  “She is lightly guarded.”

 

“Carter, lead the men out of Mordor,” ordered Anders.

 

“You don't need to come,” said Thorongil.

 

Carter shook his head.  “Only a fool would wander Mordor alone.  We can help you!” His men were of a similar mind.

 

“We don't have the supplies to make the journey all together,” Anders replied.  “This isn't a vote, get going!”

 

Carter and his four men set off along the northern road.  They left a number of their waterskins with Anders and Thorongil.  Despite this they did not have enough for the return journey.

 

“There must be water in Barad-dúr,” claimed Anders.  “Even orcs have to drink.”

 

Thorongil was less certain.  “Perhaps, but whatever system Sauron contrived to get it there may be broken.”

 

They pursued the orcs for the rest of the day, and all of the next.  At evening on the second day since they had left the other five rangers, and the sixth since entering Mordor, Thorongil and Anders reached the ruins of the greatest fortress built in Middle Earth since the First Age.


	12. Revelations

Eddil and Caranel spent the first day of the festival with Eddil's family while Aldamir, Gram and Timothy went down to the docks to shop at stalls filled with goods from Harad and Umbar. Always eager to trade, Aldamir met with a few merchants he knew from his father's business and bought assorted oddities he thought he could sell at a profit further north. A few books on Haradric culture caught Timothy's eye. Unfortunately Gram found nothing of interest to him, so he went to the monument to Imrahil and paid respects on his grandfather's behalf. Elerína for her part joined Amdirien for a grand dinner ball. She observed the Princess closely, and continued to be impressed with her political acumen.

That night Amdirien came to speak with Elerína in her room.

"Thank you again for your help this morning," she said. "I am in your debt."

"I'm sure I will need something from you eventually," smiled Elerína.

"I did get you into the royal ball," noted the Princess with a smile.

"What is scheduled for tomorrow?" asked Elerína.

"Tournaments and all manner of contests," said Amdirien. "I am expected to attend. Would you like to come with me?"

Elerína agreed to go. The next morning they took seats in a grandstand beside an open field outside the main gate of the walled city. There was space for jousting, archery, and all manner of swordplay. There were racetracks for both foot races and horse races. In every event there were two categories: professional and amateur. Anyone who currently served in any part of Gondor's military was considered professional. Everyone else, no matter how much coin they had made through feats of arms as an adventurer, was considered an amateur. Only one event was limited to professionals: jousting, on account of the death toll in prior years. As Elerína surveyed the fields of play, she noted some familiar faces.

Caranel entered the professional bracket for archery, which was almost entirely filled with other rangers. With Fëalas present it was generally accepted that everyone else was playing for second.

Eddil and Aldamir both entered the amateur dueling bracket. This was widely considered the most prestigious of the contests. Eldarion and Aderthon, despite being officers in the Gondorian army by birth, often competed in it because everyone wanted a chance to either defeat them or tell all their friends that they had sparred with the Prince of Gondor. The Prince and his cousin had combined to win the previous five years, so with them away on their adventure in the east everyone viewed this as an especially competitive year.

Gram entered the horse races - all of them. They had short races, long races, and races involving various obstacles. One in particular, which involved throwing spears at targets along the route, he felt particularly confident about.

As Elerína looked around she noticed a group of children in the stands, no older than twelve.

"Go say hello to them," said Elerína to Amdirien.

"What? Why?"

"Because what child wouldn't want to meet the princess?" asked Elerína. "When they grow up they'll support you because when they were little you took the time to talk to them."

Amdirien did as she was asked, and the children were overjoyed to meet her. She was very kind to them, and they ran off to tell all their friends what had happened. Elerína stood back and smiled. Amdirien would make an excellent pupil.

"See what I mean?" said Elerína when she returned. "Someday they will be your soldiers and your farmers."

"I am not worried about their loyalty," replied Amdirien proudly. "The people of Gondor are loyal to the crown."

Elerína shook her head. "In desperate times it is not as simple as loyalty. Gondor needs strong leadership."

"They have my brother," began the Princess.

"And what of you?" asked Elerína. "With a little training and practice I think you could wield considerable influence."

Amdirien had long ago come to terms with her brother inheriting the throne. He was the firstborn and a natural leader of men. Every soldier of Gondor was already prepared to give their life for him. Ever she struggled to balance her own ambition with fear of appearing to challenge her brother.

"Who are you?" sighed Amdirien. "I can't trust you if you won't even tell me that much..."

"Ilmarë," she said softly.

Amdirien made no reply.

"Please tell me you have heard the name," begged Elerína, loathing the thought that she might have to introduce herself as 'Eönwë's wife.' She was proud of her husband, but she was also disappointed by how much his fame outstripped hers in Middle Earth.

Galadriel's writings, which Amdirien had studied at length, spoke of Ilmarë as the greatest politician in Valinor. They said even the Valar were loath to cross her - what finer teacher could a young Princess desire?

"The Handmaiden of Varda - they say you were greater even than Sauron," stammered the Princess.

Elerína blushed. That, she thought, was a wonderful answer!

"What do you expect from me in return?" asked Amdirien, suddenly apprehensive at the thought of dealing with a being of such immense power.

"I'm not Sauron - this isn't some twisted bargain," replied Elerína. "I'm not offering you power; I am offering to teach you. I will benefit from having a friend with real influence in Minas Tirith, and I think Middle Earth will benefit as well."

"My father knows who you are?" asked the Princess.

"Yes," nodded Elerína. "As does Thranduil, who recognized my husband, and Thorin son of Dain, King Under the Mountain."

"Oh my!" gasped Amdirien. "Thorongil is…"

"Eönwë, yes," smiled Elerína. "And as your first test, I want you to hide how much more excited you are about meeting him than me."

The Princess laughed long and loudly. "I am sorry, Your Grace," she then said more quietly. "I regret that the minstrels and bards speak much more of him than of you."

"How is it you know to call me that?" asked Elerína, surprised to hear herself addressed in the manner she preferred in Valinor.

"Galadriel wrote about you," said Amdirien.

"Oh did she..." said the maia looking away. "Then I am surprised you want anything to do with me."

"Her views on you were, shall we say, complex," explained Amdirien. "And they evolved over time."

"When she left Valinor her views were quite simple - she hated me."

"Her later writings mentioned you mostly in the context of noting that she had become like you," said the Princess. "She understood why you refused to help the Noldor once she had her own people to govern and protect."

Suddenly a great horn was heard. The games were about to begin. Elerína and Amdirien went to their seats in a raised box in the front row, where many noble families also sat.

"Do you have any particular interest in the competitors?" asked Elerína.

"The captain of my guard will be competing," replied the Princess. "I told him if he wins I would meet his daughter."

"I'll do it either way," she added, guessing what Elerína would say. "Do you have any interest in the games?"

"The adventurers who went with my husband to rescue the ranger company at Cirith Ungol are out there," she answered. "I am curious to see how they fare."

Caranel's competition came first. Eight archers took five shots each and were awarded points based on each shot. Four of the eight advanced, and Caranel came in second. She also won her second match later that afternoon.

Gram's first event was a short race. His horse was not suited to such a contest and he did poorly. He was unbothered by this because his countrymen took first and second. Men of Dol Amroth murmured that perhaps next year the Rohirrim should have they own separate race. That afternoon he competed in mounted spear throwing, where he placed second among all the competitors and won himself a small amount of coin.

Aldamir and Eddil both easily won their matches. There would be stiffer competition the next day, when the field would be whittled down from sixty-four to only eight. They had little hope of winning the entire contest - their goal was to reach the final day. Eddil had done so once, losing in the round of eight to Aderthon. Aldamir had never been past the round of thirty-two, though he frequently drew hard competition. He had lost twice to Aderthon and once to Prince Eldarion himself.

That evening there was more feasting, dancing, and all manner of celebrating. At Elerína's insistence Amdirien spent more time among the common folk than she would have liked. The next morning they assembled in the grandstand for what most considered the best day of the games. The weaker competition had been eliminated but there were enough competitors remaining to have games all day long.

"Is there sport like this in Valinor?" asked Amdirien, while she and Elerína waited for others to join them in their box.

"Yes indeed," replied Elerína. "The Noldor are quite fond of contests of any kind, and contests of arms most of all - as is my husband."

Once again archery was early in the morning, and Caranel won both her matches. In doing so she advanced to the final day. Gram competed in an extremely long horse race, consisting of multiple laps around the city, which took hours to complete. He placed in eighth out of over a hundred competitors, but he was disappointed that it was a rider from Belfalas who beat out his countrymen to take first prize.

Eddil and Aldamir were consistently lucky in their draws, and both reached the round of sixteen. They then drew each other, which both claimed to be disappointed by but actually preferred. One of them was assured a place in the final day's proceedings and he would get to best his friend before a large crowd.

The duel took longer than most as both men knew the other's style. Gram, Timothy and Caranel watched anxiously. To Caranel's disappointment it was Aldamir who carried the day, beating his dear friend and celebrating excessively afterwards. Eddil couldn't complain - he had planned to do the same, he even had a few of his friends make a 'Dol Amroth over Minas Tirith' banner for him to wear on his back if he won.

The third day of the tournament - the fourth and final day of the festival - was quieter. Many travellers to the coastal city left for home throughout the day. After a quiet breakfast in the palace Elerína and Amdirien went to watch the end of the tournaments.

Archery came first, and as expected Fëalas won with a perfect score in the finals. Caranel came in seventh overall, and was disappointed with her performance that day. Aldamir lost his first match to a retired Citadel Guard. In the evening the Princess presented prizes to the winners of the tournament at the final feast of the festival.

"Congratulations cousin!" she cried, finding Fëalas among the crowd. "Your brother would be glad to see the children of Elrohir claim something from these contests."

"It is a shame both he and Círeth are away," she replied. "I am not as good with a sword as they."

"Will you ride back with me to Minas Tirith tomorrow?" asked Amdirien excitedly.

The ranger shook her head. "I regret not. I sail at first light to Umbar on the Tar-Minyatur."

"We are sending the flagship?" interrupted the Princess.

Fëalas's usually joyous expression turned serious. "Yes, cousin. There are reports of unrest. Your father believes a show of force is necessary to dissuade open defiance."

"Stay safe, Fëalas - that's an order," teased Amdirien.

"Yes ma'am!"


	13. The Dead Keep It

After the festival came to an end Timothy and his friends met in Eddil’s family home to plan their next journey.  By the warm glow of a fire they debated their course. They all desired to leave Gondor behind and seek adventure in the lands without.

 

“Where to next?” asked Eddil.

 

“Umbar perhaps?” suggested Timothy.  “That is a city steeped in history and culture.”

 

“I would prefer not to go south,” objected Caranel.  “I know we are at peace, but they have no love for Gondor’s soldiers.”

 

“What of Rohan?” suggested Gram.  “Edoras perhaps?”

 

Aldamir nodded.  “Rohan sounds nice!  Perhaps we can visit the glittering caves.”

 

“And Fangorn,” added Caranel.

 

“It's a long journey from here,” said Eddil.

 

“Not if we take the Paths of the Dead,” suggested Timothy.

 

Gram nearly choked on his drink.  “That may be the dumbest thing I have ever heard anyone say!”

 

Aldamir nodded in vigorous agreement.

 

“The dead marched with the King, and he released then from their oath,” claimed Timothy.  “It should be no more dangerous than any other mountain pass.”

 

“Do you know anyone who has passed through it?” asked Caranel suspiciously.

 

“No,” sighed Timothy.  “Most people never understood why it was haunted.”

 

“I think you mean most people aren't stupid enough to test fate,” said Gram.

 

Caranel turned to Eddil.  “You're awfully quiet, dear.”

 

Eddil looked up slowly from the glass of wine he stared at, deep in thought.  “His logic sounds reasonable, but I am hesitant nonetheless.”

 

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” asked Timothy, trying to rally the troops.

 

“Same place yours was when the rest of us went to Cirith Ungol,” replied Gram.  “Sensibly behind our common sense!”

 

“Just think of what we could find there!” replied Timothy.  “Wealth that has laid untouched for thousands of years.”

 

Aldamir’s face brightened.  “That is a good point.”

 

Gram put his head in his hands.  “No it isn't! Dying surrounded by treasure is not better than dying any other way.”

 

At the thought of treasure Aldamir’s mind was now set upon the haunted pass.  “There's always an element of risk in what we do.”

 

“I think it is worth a look,” decided Caranel.

 

“I’m in, if you want to go,” replied Eddil.

 

“Have you all completely lost your minds?” shouted Gram.

 

“Then stay behind,” said Aldamir.  “You can take our horses the long way.”  Plus that would be one less share in the treasure.

 

“And leave you all to die?” he replied.

 

“If you think you are going to run away at the first cold breeze, don't come,” warned Caranel.

 

“I will not abandon you, no matter how stupid your plan,” answered Gram.  “I want to be there when Tim tries to explain to the ghosts why they shouldn't be there.”

 

“Then it is settled,” grinned Timothy.  “We take the forgotten road from Erech to Dimholt.”

 

Gram sipped his drink.  “We’re doomed.”

 

The five placed their horses in the care of some riders of Rohan who were riding back to Edoras after attending the festival.  Gram knew many in their company, and vouched for their integrity. After a few relaxing days in Dol Amroth, Eddil and his friends began their trek up the river Morthond.  It was just after sunset ten days from the end of the festival when they came to the Stone of Erech.

 

“We aren't going in at night, are we?” shuttered Gram.

 

“Afraid?” taunted Caranel.

 

“Yes!” he replied.

 

“We will wait until morning,” said Eddil.  “Let us not confuse bravery with insanity.”

 

They slept within view of the Stone of Erech - a six-foot sphere of marble as black as the void and immovable as the mountains to the north.  They dared not touch it, though Timothy poked at it with a stick when no one was looking, just to see what would happen. Fortunately for him the answer was nothing - the stone itself was a relic of Numenor brought over the sea by the faithful and not by nature evil, though many fell and terrible oaths had been sworn upon it in the long years since.

 

That night Gram suffered from terrible dreams.  He saw his friends hunted by a terrible beast, like a wolf or a bear.  Aldamir for his part dreamt of riches beyond measure, locked away in a ruined city of stone.  Both Caranel and Eddil dreamt of a similar city, but it was filled with corpses. The most frightening dream came to Timothy, featuring a black altar marked with a red eye and blood dripping over smoothly cut stone.

 

At dawn they began the long march up through the narrow valley which the river Morthond had cut into the rock of the mountains.  It was a cold and dreary journey, for nothing lived in that cursed place save crows which occasionally pierced the haunting silence.  The sun was high in the sky when they reached the place men call Blackroot.

 

Before them lay to one side a small waterfall whose source sat high in the mountains, and on the other the entrance to a cave.  Here, a day's march from the stone of Erech, the real Paths of the Dead began.

 

Timothy seemed at least part right; the terror of the Paths of the Dead was lessened since Aragorn summoned the oathbreakers to Erech.  To all but Gram it appeared to be an ordinary cave. The air inside was colder than felt natural, but they felt no evil presence. Gram tried once more to council his friends against their course.

 

“Evil lies beyond this door,” he warned.  “I saw it last night, when we slept by that accursed stone.  A great beast, like a wolf the size of a bear. If we enter I do not think we will return.”

 

“I dreamt of riches in a city of stone,” countered Aldamir quickly, lest his companions lose heart.  “Which dream should we believe?”

 

Eddil and Caranel were disturbed to hear that Aldamir also dreamt of a stone city, but they spoke nothing of it - Caranel because she had mocked Gram for his fear, and Eddil because he hoped, like Aldamir, to find riches inside.

 

All five adventurers lit torches and entered the black hole in the side of the mountain.  The air felt eerily still. The walls of the passage were roughly hewn. They walked for what felt like hours through the narrow passage with no visible doorways on either side.  Suddenly the narrow passage opened into a wide hall. On the right side of passage the glint of steel could be seen by the light of their torches. As they approached it they saw the bones of a great warrior, his armor still around them.  A notched sword lay beside his remains.

 

Aldamir went to pick it up, but Gram drew his axe and held out it's handle to block his path.  “Here lies Baldor, Son of Brego, Prince of Rohan,” he proclaimed. “We will not disturb his peace.”

 

“They aren't doing him any good,” objected the merchant’s son.

 

“Nevertheless we shall leave them be,” said Eddil.  “That sword is not ours to take.”

 

“Very well,” Aldamir replied, unhappy with the group's decision.  He tried for a minute to pick to the lock on the door to no avail.  He would have kept trying - perhaps forever, as Baldor had done - but Gram made him stop.

 

As they stood by Baldor’s remains a cold wind swept through the chamber from the far side.  So startled were they that Caranel instinctively drew her bow. The five cautiously walked to the far side of the cavernous room and found a doorway.  A cold, steady breeze came from beyond the tunnel.

 

“We did not come here to explore,” pleaded Gram, knowing his comrades meant to go in.

 

“We are always looking to explore,” replied Eddil.

 

“The air this way is fresh,” said Caranel.  “I think it leads outside.”

 

“This is not the way out,” warned Timothy.

 

“Don’t tell me that now you are eager to leave,” laughed Aldamir.  “This whole adventure was your idea!”

 

They held a vote.  Aldamir, Eddil, and Caranel all voted to explore the tunnel.  Staunchly opposed was Gram, while Timothy abstained when it was clear the vote was settled.  The scholar in him was eager to see what lay beyond the tunnel, but in his heart he was afraid.  As he looked into the blackness of the tunnel the images from his nightmare flashed before his eyes - a black altar, and blood running down channels cut in stone.

 

The tunnel was not long.  The other end opened into a narrow valley surrounded on all sides by mountain cliffs.  A mist above the the valley turned what little sunlight remained into a dull orange glow above them.  The valley itself was filled with stone buildings, some freestanding, others partially embedded in the mountain walls.  At the far end of the valley was a great stairway of carven stone leading up to some particularly impressive structures.

 

Eddil, Caranel, and Aldamir all gasped - this was the city from their dreams.

 

Gram drew his axe.  “Caranel, please draw your bow,” he said.

 

“Why?” she asked.  “We seem quite alone."

 

“Just do it,” begged Gram.  “Please!”

 

Unsettled by the panic in his voice Caranel drew her bow and set an arrow to the string.  “Better?” she asked.

 

Gram nodded.  So great was his fear he could hardly speak.  Every gust of wind, every shifting shadow, were warped by his mind into signs of the beast he feared was hunting them.

 

“Let's stay together,” said Eddil.  “If you get separated, call for help.  I'll lead.”

 

They walked carefully up to the nearest building.  All that remained of its door were two rusted hinges.  Aldamir thrust his torch through the doorway and peered in.

 

There was little inside but the remains of two skeletons on the floor and a pile of iron pots and pans which had probably once been in a wooden cabinet that had long since rotted away.  The other adventurers took a look. Timothy, being less accustomed to visiting uncivilized places, shuddered at the sight of the bones.

 

They checked another house, and then another, slowly making their way through the valley.  They found little of interest - mostly bones and simple iron tools. Occasionally there were a few coins made of metals of little value which Timothy and Aldamir took.  One building in particular Aldamir spent considerable time searching. It had been an inn, and had the remains of at least twenty inside. One intrigued the company, for it looked like the skeleton of an orc, and orc armor lay in its room.

 

When they came out of the inn the moon was high in the sky, but only a pale glow pierced the misty vale above them.  Aldamir was frustrated that he had not found the riches his dream had promised.

 

He pointed to the great stone steps carved into the far end of the valley.  “We should check up there.”

 

“We should leave, while we still can,” said Gram.

 

“You don't say…” Aldamir groaned, tired of Gram’s constant complaining.

 

Caranel began to feel as though they were being watched.

 

“I would rather make camp up there,” she said.  “It is now nearer to us than the tunnel we came by.  We can leave in the morning.”

 

“I agree,” added Eddil.  “Both with Gram, in that I wish we could leave, and with Caranel, in that it is safer to make camp.”

 

The company walked for nearly an hour to the base of the stairs.  The stonework was beautifully precise, in stark contrast to the cobbled together houses.  Several small channels cut into the stone, seemingly for proper drainage, divided the stairs into several sections.  They walked slowly up the center section, and the ascent took nearly five minutes. All that time Caranel’s anxiety grew.  Every few steps she looked backwards, certain they were being followed, but saw nothing but the dead city behind them.

 

As they neared the top, Timothy stopped to inspect one of the channels cut into the rock.  It was stained slightly red. After a moment's thought his heart froze. These weren't made for rain water.

 

Timothy had never been so afraid in his life.  He rushed up the remaining steps in a few seconds and to his horror he saw exactly what he now expected.  In the center of the ring of buildings stood a black stone altar, and beyond it, carved into the rock wall behind, sat the Red Eye.

 

Timothy, terrified, turned to tell his friends to flee from this horrible place.  The words never came, for as he looked back down the stairs he saw at their base a sight even more terrible than the altar.  There below him beginning the ascent was a monstrous beast, in shape like a wolf but built as strong as a bear. It was as tall as a man and more than twice as long.  This was no living animal - in places it's skin had rotted away and it's eyes glowed with a pale light.

 

Timothy managed only a shriek.  All of his companions turned to see what had brought on his terror.  Caranel let her first arrow fly as the other three stumbled up the stairs.  Her arrow struck the monster on its back, and a second later fell to the ground.  If it had caused any damage the beast did not show it.

 

To say Timothy regained his composure would be a great exaggeration, but in his terror his cleverness was not completely lost.  “One of these buildings has a metal door!” he shouted, pointing frantically at the closest building to their right in the ring that surrounded the altar.

 

Caranel loosed two more arrows as the demonic wolf charged up the stairs.  She then turned and ran for the building which Timothy and her other comrades were making for.  The monster was incredibly fast, covering in seconds the distance which had taken the tired adventurers several minutes.  Caranel barely made it to the stone structure in time for Eddil to close and bolt the door when the beast clamored into it, bending the steel.  There was then a terrible sound as though metal blades were scraping against metal, as for several minutes the creature tried to claw its way through the door.

 

Thankfully the small building they occupied had no windows.  Despite that they could hear the footsteps of their hunter as he paced around the hut they cowered in. It was a long time before anyone dared to speak, save Timothy who clutched his carven stone and in whispers of Quenya begged Ilmarë or Varda to aid them.

 

“Does anyone have a torch?” asked Eddil in the pitch black.

 

No one did.  They had dropped many things in their mad dash to the door.

 

“Aldamir, draw your sword,” Timothy suddenly said.

 

“What?” asked Aldamir.

 

“Your sword!” repeated Timothy.  “It may give us light.”

 

Sure enough the blade glowed brightly blue with the monster nearby.  By its light they briefly examined what lay about them in the small room.

 

Looking up at the ceiling Timothy saw a great eye painted in red with black speech written in golden letters inside it.  “They really weren't subtle, were they,” he mumbled. He couldn't get any more afraid.

 

Aldamir saw an iron table with piles of gold coins upon it.  He stood up to take them and put them in his pack. “Finally!” he smiled.

 

“Don't touch that,” Timothy whispered.

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Aldamir.

 

“Don't take that!” shouted Timothy in terror nearing madness.

 

“Don't touch it, Aldamir,” repeated Eddil sternly.

 

Caranel slid over next to Timothy and put her arm around him.  “Tell us what's wrong, Tim.”

 

“The gold isn't ours, it's Sauron’s,” muttered Timothy, shivering and shaking.

 

“What?” asked Aldamir incredulously.

 

“Do you know why the oathbreakers didn't fight?” began Timothy.

 

“Tim, this is not the time for your rhetorical questions,” Caranel said, “just tell us why you are afraid.”

 

Timothy took a deep breath.  “The men of Dwimorberg worshipped Sauron as a god.  When Isildur came they repented for a while, but by the time he marched to war they had already fallen back to the dark religion.  This place where we sit, around the black altar, must be where they practiced their dark rituals.”

 

“And the gold?” asked Gram.

 

“We have already seen that the people of this valley had no wealth left when they died,” Timothy continued.  “Meaning either they gave this gold in tribute to Sauron, or Sauron gave it to his servants who lived up here.  Either way, given what we have seen, it's probably cursed.”

 

“I have never believed in cursed treasure,” proclaimed Aldamir defiantly.

 

“There is a demonic wolf so big it wouldn't fit through my front door hunting us right now and you are not sure this entire valley and everything in it is cursed?” said Gram angrily.

 

“Aldamir, in the old stories no good ever comes of people taking treasure when they can't slay the monster,” Eddil mused.  “Don't be Beren taking the other Silmarils.”

 

Aldamir relented and sat back down on the floor.

 

“Do we have anything resembling a plan?” asked Gram.

 

“Cower and hide?” laughed Timothy.  The others smiled, glad to see their least adventurous colleague calm enough to laugh.  The mention of Beren and Lúthien had warmed his heart. In that tale both Sauron and a giant wolf are bested, and Timothy wondered how much bigger than their current enemy mighty Carcharoth had been.

 

“Seriously,” Gram repeated, “do we have a plan?”

 

Caranel was about to give her best proposal when Timothy matter of factly declared a plan to be made.

 

“Certainly we must not open that door for any reason tonight,” he said.  “If we are to fight the wolf we must do it under the light of the sun. We could wait another night, but we would run out of water, and I don't think the thing hunting us is a wild beast that might run off tired of the chase so easily.  The only point to that would be to hope that aid came, but given where we are that seems incredibly unlikely.”

 

“Aye aye, captain!” joked Caranel.

 

That night they sharpened their blades and tried to rest.  The monster’s footsteps and growls kept them from sleep. Timothy recited poems about battles long ago to raise their spirits.  His favorite, which he sang more than once, was a fragment of the tale of Lúthien. It told of the great song-battle of Finrod and Sauron, and of the coming of Lúthien and Huan shortly after.

 

_ One sang of beauty and the light, _

_ his foe the terrors of the night; _

_ he sang of Varda clothed in stars, _

_ while Sauron sang of iron bars. _

 

_ He sang of flowers, and of trees, _

_ swaying in Manwë’s gentle breeze; _

_ but Finrod’s voice died on his lips _

_ when Sauron mentioned burning ships. _

 

_ The Dark Lord sang of grief and pain, _

_ a discord of notes with no refrain; _

_ the King’s strength faded verse by verse _

_ as Sauron uttered dreadful curse. _

 

_ At last he fell, after his ten, _

_ in sorcerer’s lair, in werewolf’s den; _

_ but short lived Sauron’s victory is, _

_ for one would come with blood like his! _

 

_ Fair Lúthien Tinúviel _

_ who later braved the gates of hell, _

_ against her father’s clear commands _

_ rode into dark and dangerous lands. _

 

_ Fearing not the Dark Lord's power _

_ She challenged Sauron for his tower; _

_ the werewolf fought to no avail _

_ with blessed hound and Nightingale. _

  
  


The next morning the sounds of the beast were gone.  As a little light flooded in at the top of the door they prepared for battle.  With drawn weapons they lined up behind the door. Timothy carried only his stone.

 

“Remember, we can not outrun it,” said Caranel.  “Stay close together.”

 

Eddil opened the door and they rushed into the open space within the ring of buildings.  There was no sign of their enemy. They walked cautiously up to the altar.

 

“Maybe it can only come out at night?” suggested Gram - an uncharacteristically optimistic appraisal to be sure.

 

“Alternative theory…” replied Timothy pointing, “it's right there.”

 

The great wolf stepped out from behind the building they had sheltered in.  It meant to cut off any hope of retreat.

 

Timothy, now feeling beyond all hope of escape, decided to show the beast no fear.  He strode a few paces towards it and held up his talisman, shouting to the monster. “In the name of Ilmarë, Varda, and all the Valar, I warn you not to pursue this course!”

 

The wolf tilted it head, judging whether to take his threat seriously.  Caranel aimed her bow. Just behind Timothy stood Gram, intending to leap in front of him with his shield. To either side of them stood Eddil and Aldamir, swords held high in challenge.

 

After a long pause the wolf decided this was a fight worth having.  It walked towards them slowly until Caranel took her shot. It ducked under her arrow and then charged them at full pace.  Timothy fell to his knees.

 

“Ilmarë preserve us!” he cried.

 

From the low mist above their heads came a thunderous sound!  Though they had never heard it for themselves they guessed well what was coming.  Four great eagles broke through the vale of mist, screeching at their undead foe below.

 

Three of the eagles went straight for the wolf, which frantically skittered to a halt and crouched low.  The eagles did not attack, only threaten loudly, for they were merely a distraction. The fourth landed a few yards from Timothy and his companions, and off it's back slid Elerína in her traveling clothes.

 

“You aren't making it easy!” she cried to Timothy.  He was too awestruck to comprehend her meaning.

 

As the four eagles circled above, Elerína stared down the monstrous wolf.  It paced back and forth, growling menacingly, now unsure this battle would be worth the risk.  Elerína could tell the wolf was ancient, either a maia or something like one. To kill it by sorcery would require enough power that her enemies across Middle Earth would be aware of her presence.  She took from her belt the mysterious sword hilt which she always carried, and as she held it by her side a long and slender blade sprung from it. The blade was made of glass or crystal, and it glittered in a rainbow of color as the rising sun caught it's countless facets.

 

Five mortal men were little concern to the monster, but four eagles and Elerína looked to be quite a threat.  It decided to flee, running quickly down the stone stairs and into the city where the densely packed buildings would hamper the eagles.  They nonetheless pursued, taunting the wolf with their piercing cries.


	14. The Huntress

“Which of you fools do I have to thank for missing breakfast with Queen Arwen?” asked Elerína as the blade of her sword disappeared back into the hilt.

 

Timothy and Aldamir immediately raised their hands.  Eddil and Caranel did so slowly. Scowling at all four them stood Gram with his arms crossed, hoping Elerína would spend plenty of time admonishing his foolish friends.

 

Elerína looked away from them in frustration and saw the massive red eye carved into the cliff face behind the buildings.  “And they say I am vain,” she muttered.

 

“Thank you for rescuing us ma’am,” said Caranel, the first of the company to regain enough composure to speak.  “We are in your debt again.”

 

With a hint of a smile on her face Elerína turned back to the five adventurers.  “You're welcome, and you most certainly are.”

 

“We should leave this place quickly,” she continued.  “Grab your things.”

 

The five adventurers had wisely left some of their packs back in the stone hut to make it easier to maneuver.

 

“Can we take the gold, ma’am?” asked Aldamir.

 

“Do you want it?” he immediately added.  She had certainly earned it.

 

“Look at this place!” Elerína replied.  “Thorongil is the family expert on curses, but I would guess taking anything from here is a terrible idea.”

 

“Who would have thought,” laughed Timothy.

 

Elerína led the long march back through the ruined city.  With her in their midst things seemed far less frightening - the swirling frozen mists fled at her approach.  The cries of the eagles echoed loudly in the valley as they circled over a particularly dense cluster of houses amidst which the wolf cowered.  It was midday when they reached the tunnel out of the valley.

 

They passed through the black cavern with Baldor’s door and took the northern tunnel out.  After another hour they passed out of the Black Door and stood in the Dimholt forest with the sun still in the sky.  They took the forest road and with the sun low in the sky they stepped out into the Rohirrim camp of Dunharrow.

 

As they walked out of the forest which the men of Rohan fear, four guards drew their weapons.  In their defense Elerína, clad mostly in black, did look the part of a sorceress of potentially unfriendly persuasion.  Gram leapt to the front of the company and shouted a greeting in the traditional tongue of his homeland.

 

“Gram, is that you?” shouted one of the guards, running up to him.

 

“Galbrod?” replied Gram excitedly.  Galbrod was a childhood friend. They had grown up together in Edoras.

 

“What in the world were you doing in that horrible forrest!” he cried.  “Surely … you did not take the haunted pass?”

 

“I did, though it was against my council,” he replied.  “My friends thought it would be safe. We were met by a monster that I will not speak of.  We have not slept for two days and have seen things the eyes of living men should not. Can we take shelter here?”

 

“Of course,” answered Galbrod.  “Let me lead you to our camp. Does the beast pursue you?”

 

Gram shook his head.  “No, it gave up the chase.”

 

That night they slept in tents with the soldiers of Rohan.  The men of The Mark were glad to host them, though they wished the travellers would tell more of their adventure.  Gram said the fear was still too near. Elerína slipped out of the camp at night and returned to the Dimholt woods.  One of her eagles met her there and bore her back towards Minas Tirith.

 

The next day Gram and his friends made the long march from Dunharrow to Edoras, the capital of Rohan and Gram’s home.  As the sun was setting they arrived at Gram’s family house. His father was a successful blacksmith in Edoras who lived in a simple but spacious building that served as both home and workshop, just inside main gate of the city.

 

The five adventurers went to a tavern within the walls of the city to enjoy their evening.  They sat with their drinks on a wooden table and by the light of a fireplace discussed their plans.

 

“I shall remain here in Edoras for a while,” said Gram.  “My thirst for adventure has been thoroughly quenched for the time being.”  

 

Aldamir provided the first suggestion.  “Why don't we go to Isengard and see if we can spot an Ent.”

 

“I think that's actually illegal,” noted Timothy.

 

“Seriously?” laughed Aldamir.  “It's a Numenorean tower!”

 

“Isengard belongs to the Ents now,” explained Caranel.  “By the King's command no one may go within view of the tower.”

 

Aldamir shook his head.  “How strictly do they enforce that?”

 

“You do remember that I’m a Ranger, right?” glared Caranel, furious at the question.  “The will of our King may mean little to you but I am sworn to enforce it to my dying breath.”

 

“Fine, fine,” sighed Aldamir relenting.  “But it's a silly law.”

 

Timothy was about to suggest a trip to the Glittering Caves when Aldamir nearly choked on his mead at the sight of a fair maiden in the strangest of dress.  She wore a loose fitting tunic made of patches of animal skins and furs stitched together with twine, a skirt of white fur, and high travelling boots stained with mud.  Around her neck hung a golden chain holding a six inch long black arrow charm. Slung over her back was a great bow of yew and a quiver with many arrows. At her side where a sword might have hung there was instead a long and narrow wooden box.

 

“Who is she!” stammered Aldamir.  None of his friends had an answer.

 

The woman was arguing with the innkeep, apparently trying to barter an animal's fur for some coin or lodging.  The innkeep was having none of that - in his establishment it was money or nothing. Aldamir stood up to go speak to her while his friends predicted how much coin he would lose in the conversation.

 

“Is everything alright m’lady?” he asked.  A rhetorical question of course, but his concern for her was genuine.

 

“Would you trade a bit of coin for this fur?” she replied.  “Apparently here in the land of the horse lords trading is a foreign concept to some.”

 

Aldamir examined the fur in question.  It was white as snow, a rarity in the south.  “What did this belong to?”

 

“A white warg,” she said.  “I killed it two months ago, just before my journey south.”

 

“I’ll give you thirty Rohirrim coins for it,” offered Aldamir.

 

“It's worth three times that at least,” she objected.

 

“At a shop in Minas Tirith perhaps,” explained Aldamir, “but I am not a merchant of furs!”

 

The woman looked quite disappointed.

 

“Tell you what,” Aldamir added.  “I’ll make it forty-five if you’ll join my friends and tell us your tale.”

 

The woman agreed and returned with Aldamir to their table.  She sat down and introduced herself.

 

“I am Astra Faronel, ‘The Huntress,’ descended from Bard the Dragonslayer.  I have hunted every manner of beasts throughout the North. There has been no finer archer born in this age of world.“

 

Caranel rolled her eyes.  “Is that a so?”

 

“It is, and if you can find a range I’ll prove it to you.”

 

As it turned out Gram knew of an open archery range used by the guardsmen of the city.  Under the last light of the setting sun Caranel and Astra readied their bows while the men watched.

 

“The stakes?” asked The Huntress.

 

“Ten coins?” Caranel suggested.

 

Astra laughed.  “I’ve never shot for so little, but so be it.”

 

“One shot, closest to the center wins,” decreed Timothy.

 

“After you,” waved Astra.

 

Caranel quickly took her shot.  The target was fifty yards yonder and her arrow landed hardly eight inches from the bullseye.

 

With a grin the Ranger stepped back.  Astra took her time aiming. Ten seconds later The Huntress released her arrow.  It landed within two inches of the center.

 

Astra threw back her hair.  “I told you I’m the best.”

 

Caranel had to know if it was luck.  “Double or nothing?”

 

Astra nodded and waited for Caranel to take another shot.  Her second effort was better, four inches from the dot. The smile vanished from the Ranger's face when she saw that Astra didn't look at all concerned.

 

The Huntress set an arrow to the string and took her time once more.  She sent it within an inch of perfect. “Again?” she laughed.

 

Caranel knew better than to go for a third contest.  She counted out her losses and gave them to Astra.

 

“Where did ‘The Huntress’ learn to shoot?” asked Aldamir.

 

“It's a gift from Béma,” she replied.  “For as long as I can remember I have wanted to do nothing but hunt, and he has brought me great success.”

 

“Béma?” inquired Eddil.

 

“Northmen’s name for Oromë,” interjected Timothy.

 

“Hey, this is Rohan, so you should say Oromë is your name for Béma!” objected Gram.

 

“What brings you to Rohan?” asked Eddil.

 

“I am travelling south for a hunt in Ithilien,” she replied.

 

“We’ll be travelling south soon, you should come with us!” Aldamir enthusiastically suggested.

 

“We are?” giggled Timothy.  That had not been the plan.

 

“Well I will,” glared Aldamir.

 

“You can come with me,” said Astra.  “These lands are strange to me. I would appreciate your company.”

 

Aldamir rented a horse the next morning and travelled with Astra to Ithilien.  He asked Timothy to take care of his regular steed when it arrived in Edoras. Caranel and Eddil took a short vacation to Fangorn.  Wanting no part of unnecessary camping in an uninhabited forest, Timothy lived with Gram’s family for the next few weeks. After their brief forest excursion their horses - which they had sent north after the festival in Dol Amroth - arrived in Edoras.  Desiring to return home, Timothy, Caranel, and Eddil journeyed south.

 

It was almost a month after their adventure in The Paths of The Dead when they arrived at the gates of Minas Tirith.  They went to Aldamir’s family’s house and found not only Aldamir but Astra too. They had clearly grown fond of one another.

 

“Welcome friends!” said Aldamir.  “Come in, come in!”

 

“How was the hunt?” asked Caranel.

 

“I lost,” moped Astra.

 

Aldamir put his arm around her.  “She came in second.”

 

The Huntress did not look particularly comforted.  “Béma’s Champion shouldn't come in second.”


	15. Jaws of Adamant

Mirumor rode up to the ruins of the main gate of Barad-dûr.  Even in ruins it towered above her - a mountain of stone and steel.  She dismounted her horse and straightened out her elegant, if somewhat revealing, scarlet dress.  With an armored troll to either side she stepped across the threshold.

 

After a few minutes of ducking under twisted iron and clamoring over fallen stone she made her way to what had once been the first courtyard within The Dark Tower.  A five-hundred foot tower that had once stood beside the main gate had fallen across the courtyard, rendering the once clean marble floor a mess of stone and metal. It had taken her orcs two months just to dig a path through the rubble to reach the gateway on the far side or the courtyard.

 

“Mistress!” shouted a particularly tall orc.  “We did not know you were coming!”

 

“I thought I would make a surprise visit, to check on your progress,” she replied.  Her voice sounded fair and her pronunciation cultured. “What have you found?”

 

“We’re working as fast as we can,” stammered the orc, shaking with fear.

 

“That doesn't answer my question...” said the sorceress calmly as her troll guard strode threatenly up.

 

“You have to understand!” cried the orc.  “Every tunnel, every passage, it's all broken!”

 

“What have you found?” repeated Mirumor.

 

“Plenty of weapons and armor,” squeaked the orc.

 

“Did I ask for simple weapons and armor?” asked Mirumor.

 

“No ma’am.”

 

“Furthermore, what are you doing out here?  Surely you should be digging, if that is what keeps us from our prize?”

 

At this one of the trolls picked the orc up by the neck.

 

“I’m on guard duty!” begged the orc, barely able to breath.

 

“Guard duty, in the middle of Barad-dûr?” laughed the sorceress.

 

“I swear it!  Ask the captain!”

 

“Bring him,” Mirumor commanded.  The troll dragged the orc along as they made their way through the exit out of the courtyard and into what had once been a great crossroads of many intersecting byways within the Barad-dûr.  Little of the roads were visible beneath the rubble of no less than six guard towers which had collapsed. Two towers remained relatively upright, and it was in these that the orcs made camp.

 

An uruk-hai saluted Mirumor as she approached.

 

“Did you leave this orc on guard?” asked the sorceress.

 

“Yes Mirumor,” he replied.

 

“Release him!” she barked.  The troll dropped the orc who fell flat on his face, wheezing and coughing.

 

The sorceress turned her attention back to the uruk commander.  “I thought I told you not to use my name?”

 

“There is no one else here who might find the information valuable,” said the orc.

 

Mirumor held out her hand.  “Do not presume to interpret my orders!”

 

The orc tried to apologize but found he could not breath.  He fell to his knees in pain, coughing up black blood.

 

“Next time I won't be so merciful,” she said, lowering her hand.  It took the orc a minute to recover and spit out all the blood. It would be weeks before his lungs didn't hurt.

 

Mirumor caught sight of her only trusted servant among these treasure-hunters, a troll named Burt.  He was remarkably clever, a thing unheard of among his kind, and he understood how to motivate orcs even better than she did.  More importantly, he didn't despise living among them.

 

“We should talk in private,” said the troll running up to her.  Mirumor and Burt found a quiet place to talk.

 

“Are you not concerned that the orcs will realize you only know one spell, and it doesn't kill particularly quickly?” asked the Troll.

 

“I’m working on others!” hissed Mirumor.  “What news of the dig?”

 

“I think we are close to the Palantír,” Burt began.  “I got to thinking, surely the King kept his most prized possessions near him, and legend has it he lived high in the top tower.  Therefore, I have had my best troops building a path up through the ruins of the central spire.”

 

Burt pointed up the mountain to the north where the remains of the central tower now lay, snaking their way among rocky spurs.  At the top of the ruined mess of black stone was a remarkably intact structure which had once been the crown of the mighty tower.

 

“And their progress?” asked the witch.

 

“Yesterday they returned with this,” he replied, handing her a piece of broken steel with an engraving in mithril and gold.  Mirumor could read the Black Speech.

 

_ His Majesty Mairon Lord of the Earth _

 

Mirumor’s hand trembled.  “If only I had been born in time to enter this great tower in its majesty, what a student I would have made.”

 

Burt nodded.  “Perhaps, though legend says he was a cruel master.  Maybe it is better to pick up the remnants of his power.”

 

The sorceress shook her head.  “Perhaps for you. Even if we find the Palantír I will be only a child playing with forces she barely comprehends.  I would gladly trade any treasure we find for a chance to meet their master.”

 

Burt pondered her words.  He wondered if Sauron would have had any time for her, unless it was to torture her for her insolence.  Every orcish legend about the Lord of Lugbúrz said he was cruel beyond measure and exacted a terrible price for any service rendered.  Perhaps he might have appreciated her unwavering devotion. Perhaps.

  
  


A few hours later Thorongil and Captain Anders were within a mile of the ruined gate.

 

“It's looks like a massive jaw,” muttered Anders, “with ruined towers for fangs.”

 

“Hold it together, captain,” laughed Thorongil.

 

As they approached the gate they heard marching feet.  They leapt behind a fallen bit of battlement from the wall and waited for the host to pass.  After the sounds died away they peered back down the road they had come by and saw at least two hundred orcs carrying bundles of weapons and armor.  A troll led their march.

 

Thorongil and Anders slipped into Barad-dûr and reached the first courtyard.  They overheard some chatter within.

 

“I can't believe the witch is in charge now!”

 

“I miss Burt already.”

 

“You miss Burt?  Just yesterday he tore my best mate's arms off!”

 

“Aye Burt will do that, but when Burt pulls a guy's arms off you know he deserved it!”

 

Thorongil and Anders drew their swords and charged into the courtyard.  They quickly slew ten orcs on guard. Thorongil got seven to Anders’ three, but Anders complained that Thorongil killed one he would have had with an unnecessary thrown dagger.

 

Captain Anders and Thorongil set off along the hewn path through the courtyard.  They were hours behind Mirumor but the set a torrid pace. They followed the path the orcs had constructed up through the ruins of the great tower and towards what had once been Sauron's inner sanctum.  They crawled through tunnels that looked ready to collapse at any moment. They climbed up rope ladders and walked along the walls of what must have been impressive halls in the Dark Tower. It took nearly twenty hours for them to make the ascent, but they eventually reached the top.  Before them stood what had been the final few floors of Sauron’s tower.

 

The black metal structure was leaning against a rock wall, a cylinder with many windows crowned with crenellations of red crystal.  From a low balcony hung a rope ladder, swaying in the mountain breeze. Below it stood two armored trolls.

 

“You can still feel the evil,” muttered Anders shivering.  Thorongil noted fear in his voice for the first time since they had met.  Even half a century after his downfall Sauron’s aura of terror still lay upon this place - like a chill air which fought to smother any living thing which dare move within in.

 

Thorongil put his hand on the ranger’s shoulder.  “Stay here.”

 

Anders only nodded.  He took a seat upon a broken stone, exhausted.  They had not slept in more than a day.

 

Thorongil drew his sword and it burst into flames as he approached the trolls.  “Good evening gentlemen!” he yelled as they fumbled for their weapons.

 

Thorongil easily dispatched the witch’s troll guard and began to climb her ladder.  He was about halfway up when she appeared at the window.

 

“Good evening to you,” she shouted, a knife in her hand.  “Pity I don't have time to deal with you properly.”

 

Mirumor had seen what Thorongil did to her trolls and did not want to give him any more time than was necessary.  Even as she spoke she cut the ladder and Thorongil fell twenty feet to the rocks below. As he fell he considered throwing a dagger but decided to concentrate on surviving the landing.

 

Anders rushed to Thorongil’s side.  He was in great pain but he slowly got up, cursing in his strange tongue which Anders wrongly assumed to be elvish.  As he struggled to his feet he heard the cry of a mighty beast. Looking up they saw what men called a Fell Beast, the twisted flying lizards which Sauron had used to carry his Nazgúl.  It landed on top of the tower briefly and then leapt off the far side from where Thorongil stood.

 

Thorongil stumbled around the base of the fallen citadel and prepared a shot with his black bow.  As reached the far side he looked down from their high rocky perch and saw the witch upon her foul winged steed swooping towards the ruins far below.  It was at least a thousand feet away, so Thorongil slowly lowered his bow. She had won this round.

 

It was seven days later when Thorongil and Captain Anders meandered up to the Gondorian garrison at the Black Gate.  They had spent a day in the mountains after their failure to capture the witch, seeking a mountain stream to fill their waterskins.  They were in no hurry to return in defeat.

 

Captain Anders was warmly welcomed by the soldiers of the garrison.  They thought nothing of his self-described failure and praised his courage mightily.  The name of Captain Anders was well known to most in Gondor’s armies and they were glad to have their young hero return safely.

 

The garrison at the Black Gate had no horses to spare forcing Thorongil and Anders to travel by foot to Minas Tirith.  They went via Cair Andros, a nine day journey walking without strong purpose and counting an entire day at the historic ford over the Anduin.  Elerína was standing at the main gate of the Tower of Guard when they arrived.

 

“Where have you been!” she laughed.

 

Thorongil dismounted his horse.  “We took a little trip to Barad-dûr.”

 

“Don't be too proud of yourself,” Elerína whispered as the maiar embraced, “I’ve been to the Paths of the Dead!”


	16. A Man Called Anders

“The Paths of the Dead?”  Thorongil gasped. “Without me?”

 

“Timothy and his band of foolish adventurers got themselves trapped there,” she laughed.  “I rescued them.”

 

“Well done,” said Thorongil.  “Rescue missions are not typically your forte.”

 

“Taking care of reckless heroes is,” she replied with a wink.

 

Captain Anders waited for them to join him for the walk up to the citadel.  “We should report to the King immediately,” he suggested.

 

The King was just sitting down to lunch with his family when Thorongil and Anders arrived.  They decided their report could wait. Elerína asked a servant to fetch them a light meal which they ate in the garden behind the King's house.

 

After about an hour Aragorn came out to speak with them.  “Report, Captain Anders?”

 

Anders leapt to his feet.  The beautiful plate he was eating from would surely have broken had Thorongil not caught it.  Elerína and Thorongil rose somewhat more leisurely.

 

Captain Anders explained all that had happened on their adventure in Mordor.  He stressed Thorongil’s assistance mightily. When he finished his tale, the King looked very concerned.

 

“How has this witch assembled such a large force so quickly?” he asked.

 

“Unknown sir,” replied Anders.

 

“I suspect she found them in the east,” said Thorongil.  “Leaderless masses of orcs can be quickly given purpose with a bit of theatricality and violence.”

 

Aragorn nodded in agreement.  “It is a pity she escaped,” he idly mused.

 

Thorongil turned away in disgust.  “Sorry sir. I’m not what I used to be.”

 

“I didn't mean that it was your fault,” said the King quickly, regretting his words.  “Without you there I doubt we even get a good look at her.”

 

That comforted Thorongil very little.  He didn't go running halfway across Mordor for a look at his enemy, he went to kill her.

 

Aragorn had other news of interest mainly to Anders.  “Feälas is returning to Umbar to command our armies in the south, leaving the position of interim commander of the Rangers in central Gondor open.”

 

“It'll go to Trevadîr,” groaned Anders, uncharacteristically interrupting his King.

 

“Yes, it will,” replied the King.  “The position is political in nature and requires the approval of the Council.”

 

“May I speak freely sir?” asked the Ranger.

 

“For a moment,” nodded Aragorn.  There was little he could do for his most loyal soldier but let him vent.

 

“I have three times the combat experience he does and he is at best a competent tactician,” began Anders.

 

“That's true,” agreed the King.  “But with him in the Citadel you could join First Company.”

 

“Why?” asked Anders.  “You trust Second company more anyways.  Why else would have called for me and not them for the Mordor mission?”

 

“To be next in line for the Citadel,” replied Aragorn.

 

“Even if the Council would suffer me commanding First Company, and I don't think Trevadîr would,” Anders went on, “they will never let a man named Anders take a spot at the table in the Citadel.”

 

Aragorn had indulged his soldier long enough.  “That will be all, captain.”

 

Aragorn returned to the palace where The Council met and as expected they rejected Aragorn’s nomination of Captain Anders and demanded Trevadîr instead.  Aragorn called a formal vote to show the soldiers of Gondor where he stood on the issue. Trevadîr was then nominated by the King and confirmed unanimously.

 

Trevadîr was loyal to Gondor and not a bad soldier but he had political ambitions and was overly concerned with his own career.  He also believed that Gondor’s military leadership should remain firmly controlled by those of high birth.

 

Trevadîr selected his own second in command to take over First Company and nominated Eänur, Anders’ second lieutenant, to move up from Second to First Company.  That promotion should have been Anders’ if he wanted it and Carter’s otherwise. Aragorn was displeased with these decisions, though the Council approved whole heartedly.  The King decided to delayed those changes.

 

Thorongil was livid that Aragorn allowed politics to influence internal military decisions, and Elerína kept him away from the King lest he say something unpleasant.  That night, Aragorn came to the room he had given to the maiar, intending to put a plan in motion. Elerína was surprised to see him at such a late hour but eagerly welcomed him in.

 

“Thorongil, I need a favor,” began the King.

 

Thorongil slowly looked up from the book he was reading, his eyes glowing faintly red with anger.  “Is that so?”

 

“I’m sure he is happy to help!” said Elerína cheerfully before glaring at her husband.

 

“If I assign Captain Anders to your command, will you take him under your wing?” asked Aragorn.  “I need something to differentiate him from his peers.”

 

Thorongil shut his book loudly.  “My command? He's a soldier of Gondor, and I thought I made it clear to you I am not.”

 

“I know you haven't asked for an apprentice,” Aragorn sighed.

 

“I could not ask for a better one,” Thorongil interjected.  “The question is not could I work with him, the question is what do you or he stand to gain?”

 

Aragorn shook his head in frustration.  “I don't know what I expect. Anders has advanced as far as he can as a simple soldier, but I see in him much more potential.  He’s not even thirty and already he is the finest ranger in the garrison - but there is nowhere for him to go from there.”

 

Elerína went to the window and stared at the White Tree glowing softly below her.  “We can teach him all there is to know of both war and peace, but we can not give him noble blood or titles - which seem to be what he needs.”

 

“The Council looks after itself, but there is more to it than nepotism,” claimed Aragorn.  “They expect anyone in the military that they might have to interact with to be as educated as they are.  Men like Anders see such early success in their military careers that they thumb their nose at history and languages until they are suddenly held back by it.  There is no welcome in the Citadel for those who don’t speak Elvish.”

 

Thorongil rolled his eyes and leaned back in his hair.  “Because that is how wars are won; as though swords and arrows care what language you speak...”

 

Elerína stepped back from the window and interrupted her husband before he could further insult the King.  “I will teach your ranger how to fit in amongst your nobility.”

 

“If Captain Anders wishes to work with me, I am happy to train him as I have many before,” said Thorongil.

 

“May I tell him who you are?” asked the King.

 

“Well, I told my new student,” interjected Elerína, bracing herself for her husband's shock.

 

“Wait, what?” exclaimed Thorongil.

 

“Amdirien, the King’s eldest daughter,” explained Elerína.

 

“Compartmentalization of information means nothing to you, does it?” Thorongil complained.

 

“She's the Princess of Gondor, second in line for the throne!” Elerína replied.

 

“Fine, fine,” sighed Thorongil.  “You may tell him.”

 

“He'll appreciate the need for secrecy,” he added with a glance towards his wife.

 

Aragorn left to retire to his own bed.

 

“So you waited all this time to tell me about Amdirien, hoping for a chance when Aragorn was present so I couldn't object further, seeing as it's his daughter?” said Thorongil with a disappointed look.

 

Elerína blushed in shame.  “Oh you picked up on that, did you?”

  
  


The next morning Aragorn surreptitiously had Anders brought to meet with him in the Citadel Tower.

 

“I have an unorthodox suggestion for you,” said the King, “  If you wish to continue to command second company you may, but if you have higher aspirations I could assign you to train under Thorongil and his wife.”

 

“I don't think Thorongil wants an apprentice,” said the Ranger.

 

“He said he couldn't ask for a finer student,” smiled Aragorn.  “And I say that you could not possibly ask for finer teachers!”

 

Aragorn lowered his voice to a whisper.  “Thorongil is Eönwë trapped in mortal form, like the Istari were.”

 

“I’ve heard that name before,” muttered Anders.  ‘Istari’ of course meant nothing to him - he, like most mortal men, assumed Gandalf and Saruman to have been elves.

 

Aragorn took a deep breath.  This was exactly why the Council did not want him in command, answering to them or representing Gondor.  “Eönwë was Manwë’s Herald and his greatest general. He commanded the massive army of the Valar which marched against Morgoth at the end of the First Age.”

 

“So he is he an elf?” asked the Ranger.

 

“No, he is one of the maiar, like Sauron or Gandalf.”

 

“Can you make sure Carter gets second company?” asked Anders, thinking first of his men’s well being.

 

Aragorn nodded.  “I’ll work that out.”

 

“Then I accept, sir,” nodded the Ranger.

 

Later that day Aragorn went to Faramir Hall to formally promote Trevadîr.  Most of the Rangers were bitter that he had been chosen over Anders, but Anders was quick to silence any whispers of dissent.  Aragorn addressed his finest soldiers.

 

“I have two announcements of interest to you.  First, Trevadîr will be replacing Feälas as commander of all Ranger companies within our borders while she is in the South.”

 

There was muted applause.

 

“In addition, Captain Anders is taking a special assignment for the crown.  They have both asked that the ranking officers remaining in their respective companies replace them.”

 

The Rangers gasped.  Losing Anders to a ‘special assignment’ wasn't in their plans.  They mustered a few claps and congratulations for the new company captains.

  
  


Captain Anders spent weeks studying under the maiar.  His mornings were spent with Thorongil training with sword and bow, far harder than anything he had done before.  After lunch he studied elvish and Numenorean history and culture with Elerína. His nights were spent studying every tactic from every battle Thorongil could think of - which was all of them.

 

Aragorn watched Anders’ progress closely.  He was quite happy with how the situation with his maiar guests had unfolded - Thorongil and Elerína’s lives were becoming more and more entwined with his servants’, and even if they did leave, his finest soldier and his eldest daughter were learning a great deal from them and seemingly earning their respect.

 

Then one night an errand rider from Minas Ithil came to the palace with urgent news.  He knelt before the throne and told his tale.

 

“Your majesty, two nights ago a black bird came to Minas Ithil, and left this upon the balcony of the highest tower.  We have had no luck deciphering it.”

 

He handed the King a letter.  The King tried to read it but the words meant nothing to him, and as he tried to say them he found his head ached horribly.

 

“Send for Thorongil,” he commanded, and Thorongil arrived not long after.  He took the letter and read it to himself.

 

“It does not surprise me that you could not read it, for though the script is Numenorean the language is Black Speech,” he said.  “It says that ‘Mirumor, Lady of Shadow’ wishes to trade a Palantir and all that she knows of the situation in Mordor for a full pardon.  She will be in Cirith Ungol for five more days.”

 

Aragorn thought long and hard.  “I am inclined to accept. A Palantir is worth a great deal.  Can you help us recover her?”

 

“We can not,” answered Elerína, arriving uninvited.  “The hour of our test is nigh, and you will need us here in the heart of your citadel.”

 

“Send Captain Anders,” suggested Thorongil.

 

“You will not want him here?” asked the King.

 

Thorongil shook his head.  “He would be of no use.”

 

“Very well,” nodded Aragorn.  “But he can not go alone.”

 

“Send Caranel and her band of adventurers!” suggested Elerína.

 

The King looked confused.  “The amateurs who went with Thorongil to try to rescue Miller’s company?”

 

Elerína nodded.  “Yes, it's only fair they conduct a proper rescue, seeing as they botched the first one.”

 

“Summon them,” commanded the King.


	17. Power of Legend

Aldamir, Caranel, Eddil, and Timothy were called to appear before the king.  All four were incredibly nervous. Caranel had been inducted into the Rangers by Aragorn and Aldamir had received a pat on the head when he was a small child at a royal ball, but beyond that none of them had any experience dealing with their King.  Aragorn was to them more legend than man, the sort of person you die in service to, not talk to.

 

Astra came along as well.  She didn't see what all the fuss was about.

 

Elerína, Thorongil, and Captain Anders were present as the five adventurers knelt before the Throne of Gondor.  Aragorn spoke first.

 

“A commander of the orcs of Mordor has offered herself and a Palantir in exchange for our protection and a royal pardon.  I am inclined to accept. Captain Anders will be leading the mission to recover her, and the Lady Elerína has suggested you assist him.”

 

Timothy’s heart sank.  It was time to pay the piper.

 

“I will not force you to go - most of you are not my soldiers,” continued Aragorn.  “But if you help me in this regard you would have my gratitude.”

 

Before they could answer, Elerína spoke, looking at each in turn.  “She’ll go for duty, he’ll go for love, he’ll go for money, she’ll go for fun, and he…”

 

She turned last to Timothy.  “He will go because without him I fear the quest will fail and his friends will not return.”

 

All of the adventurers nodded.  All but Astra owed Elerína their life, and Astra thought Mordor sounded exciting.

 

“When do we leave?” asked Eddil.

 

It was decided that they would leave the next morning and attack Cirith Ungol at dawn the following day.  The King decided to send both the first and second companies of First Rangers, plus a detachment from the Citadel Guard, to attack the fortress and provide a distraction.  Anders and his team would slip in the back door and rescue the sorceress.

 

The company of six prepared themselves for their quest.  Anders studied maps and drew up plans. He prepared glass bottles filled with sticky black ink, which he insisted each member of his team carry in their packs.  He also advised the Rangers of first and second company to carry similar bottles. Second took his advice, first company did not.

 

Aldamir, Eddil, and Caranel sparred together in the Citadel courtyard.  Astra did nothing to prepare but take the arrow from her wooden box and add it to her quiver.  Timothy was visited by Elerína who took his stone and spent some time holding it closely.

 

“If the spider attacks you, this will be your best defense against her,” she said returning it to him.  She had prepared a little surprise for the daughter of Ungoliant.

 

The company set out at dawn the next morning along with nearly three hundred soldiers of Gondor including the Rangers.  They camped that night in Mogul Vale before making the long trek through the Spider’s Pass. The next morning the battle for Cirith Ungol began.  Unbeknown to the orcish garrison, Mirumor removed the spell on the main entrance to Cirith Ungol, allowing the Gondorian main force to enter the courtyard of the fortress with little challenge.

 

As the sounds of battle echoed back into the tunnel of Shelob's lair Anders led his team into the fortress by the back door.  With most of the garrison engaged with the Gondorian soldiers in the courtyard the six rescuers met little resistance. The few orcs they encountered swiftly fell to their swords.

 

Eventually Anders, Caranel, Aldamir, Eddil, Timothy, and Astra reached the highest tower of the castle where Mirumor cowered.  The door was barred against them.

 

Caranel drew her sword.  Rage swelled in her heart at the thought of rescuing the sorceress who's orcs had murdered her brothers in arms one by one during her captivity in this very tower.  “We should kill the sorceress and take the stone back to the King.”

 

“I didn't come here to kill this woman in cold blood,” objected Aldamir.

 

Eddil sided with Caranel.  “She came within hours of killing Caranel; without Thorongil she would have killed you and me.”

 

“We implicitly accepted her terms,” began Timothy.

 

“This isn't a vote!” shouted Anders.  “Our orders are to bring her back to Minas Tirith and that is exactly what we are going to do.”

 

Anders knocked loudly.  “Mirumor! Do you want to come with us or not?”

 

The door opened of its own accord.  Standing across the room from the rescuers stood the sorceress, looking out a high window down at the battle.

 

“Finally!” she cried.  “The battle goes against you.”

 

Anders rushed to her side and surveyed the chaos below him.  The forces of Gondor had retreated out of the courtyard at the sight of a large orc host marching up the road that led into Mordor.

 

“We need to move, now!” he shouted.  “Where’s the Palantír?”

 

Mirumor went to a locked chest and with three different keys opened it.  Inside was a black silk sack from which she pulled a foot wide sphere of translucent marble.  A faint light came from within it. Timothy gasped. Few in Middle Earth got the chance to see a Seeing Stone of old.

 

“The Palantir, as promised,” grinned the sorceress.  She grabbed another bag of treasure in her left and and around her waist tied a belt with numerous daggers and swords.

 

The company, now seven strong, ran back through the fortress towards the exit into Shelob’s tunnel.  They were nearly out of the castle when they came to a large room with a high ceiling. It had been a feasting hall in ages past.  Now it stood empty, the remains of tables and chairs thrown against the wall, save for a twelve foot tall armored troll blocking their path.

 

“Burt said you might be trying to run aways with the bad mens!” roared the beast.  “Never can trust your kind! Always scheme and betray!”

 

“Bottles!” cried Anders.  Everyone but Astra rushed at the troll with their bottles of ink.  At about ten feet from the monster they let them fly, and a few found their mark - the top of its helmet.  The ink from the shattered bottles dripped down over the glass which covered the beast's eyes.

 

The troll might have killed his quarry by blindly rushing them, swinging his enormous club, but he was not clever enough to keep his helmet on.  As he pulled it off his head Astra placed an arrow straight through his eye. The monster had hardly hit the floor when the seven fled the room by the door from whence the troll had come.

 

Anders and his team had one final challenge to overcome.  They had hardly spent ten minutes in Shelob's tunnel when the mighty spider dropped into their path.  The burn mark from her encounter with Thorongil was clearly visible on her eye clusters.

 

Instinctively Timothy drew his stone and Astra drew a particular arrow from her quiver.

 

“Ilmarë preserve us!” shouted Timothy.

 

There was a flash of light from the carven stone unlike anything Shelob, let alone the mortals, had ever seen.  Not even if the Silmarils themselves had been present would the light have been brighter. By the power of the spell the mortal men were unharmed, save Mirumor whose skin was burned red.  So great was the power Ilmarë had placed in the stone that it turned to ash in Timothy’s hand as the pulse of light was unleashed.

 

Shelob stood completely blinded, both physically and in her ability to sense her prey through magic.  She screeched in rage at the thought of another hunt ruined by her new maiar neighbors. She was done running!  What mortal, she wondered, would dare pass her as she stood in their path? She could wait for the blindness to subside.  It was her prey that were pressed for time.

 

She was right.

 

Timothy stood in shock, trying to grab some of the dust that had been his most prized possession and the only link he had to his father.  None of his companions dared try to rush past the predator. As Tim fell to his knees, grasping wildly at the air and hoping Shelob would flee, he heard words he recognized from an old story.

 

"Black arrow...” said Astra, reciting words carved beneath the statue of her ancestor in Dale and known to every child living on Long Lake.  “You have never failed me and always I have recovered you. I had you from my father and he from of old. If ever you came from the forges of the true king under the Mountain, go now and speed well!"

 

Shelob heard the twang of the bowstring and ducked her head just in time to avoid a lethal blow.  Smaug’s Bane sailed just over her head and into her bulbous abdomen. She had not felt pain like that since she landed on Sting.  So sharp was the arrow and strong was the bow that there was heard alongside her wail of pain the clinking of metal upon stone - the Black Arrow landed behind the spider having passed straight through her.

 

Shelob had no idea what weapon or sorcery her foes had struck her with, but she had no intention of finding out if they had a second.  She rushed away from them, wildly feeling with her forelegs for a side passage to hide in. Anders and company followed her, Astra careful to collect her arrow as they went.

 

There was still some sunlight left when Anders led his six companions out of the tunnel.  After the long journey down the steps they stayed the night in Minas Ithil. All but Mirumor slept well - she got a prison cell with nothing but a cold stone floor to sleep on.

 

The next evening they rode into Minas Tirith, the army that had accompanied them close behind.  They had lost about fifty men but killed four times that, plus three armored trolls thanks to Anders’ ink bottle idea.

 

The six adventurers reached the Palace of the King just as the last light of the setting sun could be seen in the clouds behind Mount Mindolluin.


	18. Something Ends, Something Begins

****

The city of stone was buzzing with excitement and activity.  The previous day, even as Mirumor was being ‘rescued,’ Prince Eldarion and his surviving companions had returned from their long journey east.  They had brought home with them a grave threat to the safety of all the free peoples, but for the moment Thorongil and Elerína had the situation under control.  The tale of that encounter is told elsewhere.

 

Anders led his company up to the throne room.  As they passed by the White Tree Eddil beckoned his comrades to go ahead without him and for Caranel to stay.  Under the light of the stars he knelt before her with a ring in his hand.

 

“Caranel, will you...” was as far as he got.  Caranel lifted him to his feet by his shoulders and kissed him beside the White Tree.  Timothy and Aldamir, who had guessed what was afoot and thus gone on only a few yards, clapped and cheered.

 

“Truly an ending worthy of the bards,” laughed Anders looking back.

 

The company proceeded to meet the King.  Beside the throne stood Elerína and Thorongil.  The King greeted them gladly.

 

“You have done the crown a great service, and should be rewarded accordingly.  What would you ask from your King?”

 

Caranel spoke first.  “I am a Ranger, and have done only her duty.”

 

Eddil put his arm around Caranel’s shoulders.  “I would ask you to perform our marriage, here under the White Tree.”

 

“I think that is an excellent idea,” smiled the King.

 

Aldamir’s turn came next but he couldn't decide what to ask for.  He thought asking for coin from the King was a waste of an opportunity to get closer to a royal title.  “I do not know what I would ask of you, Your Majesty. Perhaps you know better than I. Would the crown consider this the first step towards a royal title?”

 

The King nodded.  “I shall. In addition, for the next month you may conduct your trade free of taxes.”

 

“Thank you Your Majesty!” he exclaimed, much too excitedly for such a formal occasion.

 

“No pot of gold?  How uncharacteristically wise of you!” cackled Eddil under his breath.

 

The King turned then to Astra.

 

“As I have done in Erebor and Dale, I ask for the title of “The Huntress” within your lands,” she replied.

 

“As you wish,” nodded the King.  “I do not promise you exclusivity, but within the lands I rule you may use that title.”

 

Last of all came Timothy.  He knew exactly what he wanted.  “Your Majesty, I am a scholar. I would ask for access to the royal library and vault.”

 

“The wise know well the value in such privileges,” replied Aragorn.  “I grant you both.”

 

Aragorn thanked them again for their service and dismissed the company.  He beckoned Anders to stay.

 

“Well done, Captain,” said the King.  “There is one other matter. You are to be commended, both for your success and for the idea of using glass bottles of ink to defeat the armored trolls.  For the former, you have my congratulations; for the latter, you shall receive Arathorn’s Gem for Unconventional Thinking.”

 

This award, named for the King’s father and a great ranger in his own right, was rarely given.  Anders knew it was a great honor to receive it.

 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Anders.

 

“You have Trevadîr to thank for the formal commendation,” added the King.  “It was he that recommended it. He said many more in his army would have perished had it not been for that tactic.”

 

“I can't take all the credit, sir,” replied Anders.  “Thorongil mentioned something similar being used in a battle in the First Age.”

 

“I dare say there might be some value in learning history,” laughed Aragorn.  “Dismissed.”

 

Captain Anders nodded and left.  He went to Faramir Hall, hoping to find that most of second company had survived the battle at Cirith Ungol.  As he left the Citadel he noted that Caranel and her friends were still meandering about; no one had told them to leave, and they knew it was rare to get the chance to see the seventh level of their grand city.

 

While his friends crept around the citadel hoping not to be noticed and asked to depart, Timothy sat on a stone bench beside the Fountain Court staring at the White Tree.  As the excitement of the past few days wore off he wept for the loss of the carven stone his father had given him at his birth. He felt he had lost his last connection to his parents, and perhaps to his mysterious divine protector as well.

 

As Elerína looked down at him from her window in the palace, her heart sank.  She knew he had paid a heavy price to defeat the spider. She tried to figure an argument that might convince her husband as to why she should reveal to him her identity.  So lost in thought was Elerína that she did not notice him join her in their room until he stood just behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

 

“You should go tell him,” he whispered.

 

“Thank you dear,” she answered with a kiss.  She went quickly down to the door of the Palace and out to Timothy’s side.  Sitting down beside him with a pat on his back she tried to console him.

 

“I’ll make you a new sigil,” she said.

 

Timothy tried to appear composed but could not.  “It wouldn't be the same,” he sobbed.

 

Elerína leaned close to him and whispered in his ear.  “No, it will not ... but I would like to think that when your father made that for you he knew you would someday meet me.”

 

It took Timothy a moment to understand her meaning.  Suddenly he looked up, shocked and amazed. He would have exclaimed her name but she held a finger to his lips.

 

“Not here,” she said.  “I will answer your questions elsewhere.”

 

“Yes, Your Grace,” he whispered, his sorrow turned entirely to joy.

 

That evening Elerína dined with Timothy in the Palace of the King.  She answered his many questions about her purpose in Middle Earth and her history.  As night fell he asked his most important question.

 

“Why me?  Why have you protected me all these years?”

 

Ilmarë did not give a very satisfying answer.  “I do not know. I must admit I do not have any memory of you prior to our meeting in this city.  That said, I do not think Varda could easily remember all those to whom her name has brought aid. Perhaps it was my power without my memory - a thing that may sound strange to you but is not to me.  Perhaps Manwe, or Varda, or some other power aided you either for your own sake or knowing I would have need of you. Or perhaps it was your own courage and wit that got you through those adventures. You may choose to believe any combination of those - I myself choose to believe the first.”

 

“Hard to believe you don't know...” said Timothy.

 

“I’m not omniscient,” she sighed.

 

“Just smarter than everyone else?” he laughed.

 

“I think we're going to get along very well.”

  
  


That evening Mirumor was brought before the King and his councilors who asked innumerable questions.  She answered honestly, though she avoided the questions of her motives, choosing to portray herself as having been interested only in treasure hunting and having been forced to work with the orcs towards such an end.  As to her treasure, Aragorn ordered everything she carried with her confiscated and placed in the vault of Minas Tirith. He had promised her a pardon, not a profit. The only thing she managed to keep from her time in Mordor was a ring on her right hand - glittering gold inlaid with a singular red gem.  No one suspected that it had come from Barad-dûr.

 

Though Mirumor acted disappointed by the loss of her treasure she had expected as much.  The ring was all she had wanted. Had Aragorn known what lay on her finger he certainly would not have let her keep it, even if it was for the moment powerless.

 

It had belonged to a Prince of Numenor long ago, denied the throne he felt should have been his.  In his pride and jealousy he had taken from Sauron an offer of incredible power and eternal life. With its power he had conquered many thrones and slain many kings, but the dominion over men which Sauron had promised was never his.  The ring sat upon his master's finger when he, the one they said no living man could kill, met his fabled end upon the fields of Pelennor.

  
  


Three weeks after their return from Cirith Ungol Caranel and Eddil were wed in the shadow of the White Tree of Gondor by Aragorn their king.  It was well attended - all of their friends were there including Gram, who came down from Rohan for the occasion. Aragorn’s family attended in full - a great honor for the young couple.  Elerína and Thorongil were present as well.

 

After their wonderful wedding Caranel and Eddil took a honeymoon in Ithilien at a small cottage owned by the King.  They thanked him profusely before setting off. Astra and Aldamir decided to go with Gram back to Rohan; Astra wished to hunt game in Dunland.

 

Thorongil remained in Minas Tirith with Anders, plotting their next move against the orcs of Mordor.  Elerína and Amdirien travelled to Pelargir to attend a feast. Timothy went alone to the little village in Belfalas where he grew up to visit his parents’ grave, and tell them that he had lost his stone but found a star.

 

* * *

 

 

**Thank you** for reading “The Eagle and the Star” and making it all the way to the end!  I had a lot of fun writing it; I'm not a writer by trade (I'm a Computer Scientist) so the fact that even one person made it this far is still something I am coming to grips with :)

 

I'd like to thank Silmarilz1701 for editing and posting this, and encouraging me to try my hand at writing.  If you haven't read her work, you should take a look at it! This story originally was just an introduction for the characters of Thorongil and Elerína to her 4th age timeline.  Of course, most of you are probably thinking “of course I have read her stories, how do you think I found yours?”

 

If you are hoping for more stories about these characters, fear not!  There will be a sequel. It is titled “The Knight and the Huntress” and it has already been written (though if you have feedback on this story, I'm sure I will have time to incorporate it before release).  It will release once Flight to the East has progressed far enough that nothing will be spoiled. In the meantime, I may write a short prequel, the start of which will be in the next, final chapter.


	19. Epilogue

 

_One Year Earlier......_

Thorongil grabbed her hand and led her across the water and up the picturesque green hill to the last round door along the road. Every house had a pretty garden, but Bag End had the finest.

Elerína knocked on the round green door.

"One moment, if you please!" shouted a voice from within. A moment later the door opened to reveal an older, but by no means elderly hobbit of round proportions. "I told you you could keep my spade…"

At the sight of two of the big people, dressed more in the manner of elves than men, he stopped short.

"I'll be!" he gasped. "I'm Samwise Gamgee, Mayor of the Shire. How might I be of service?"

Elerína knelt down and shook his hand. "I'm Elerína, and this is Thorongil. We have something for you."

She took an envelope from her pouch and handed it to the hobbit. It was addressed, in Frodo's distinctive script, to 'The Master of Bag End.' Return address: 'Over the Sea.'

Sam tore the letter open at once and read the first line standing in his open door.

'Dearest Sam,'

After he read the first few sentences, and felt sure it really was from his old master, Sam regained some of his wits.

"Sam you ninnyhammer!" he exclaimed. "It's as my old gaffer used to say: Sam, you've got a mind for one thing at a time and hardly that! Here I am, reading my letter, while the two of you stand on my front porch! Come in, if you have the time, and I'll fetch you some tea."

They did indeed join Sam and Rosie for tea, and then cakes, and then some dried meats, and more and more until even the two maiar couldn't eat another bite. Then Sam took his guests to the Mathom-house of Michel Delving, where Thorongil, who had up until this point been very quiet, bombarded the hobbit with questions about nearly every item in the museum until Sam was out of breath.

"You sure do know your history, master Thorongil!" said Sam as they left. "You've heard all about me and the Shire, and now I wish to know a bit about you. I don't know much about 'Valinor,' as Frodo called it, but I know that we don't get many visitors from over the sea. What brings you to our lands?"

"To the Shire? We are just passing through," replied Thorongil. "Olorin recommended we stop here before going someplace called 'Bree.'"

"Who might this be?" asked Sam.

"Gandalf," smiled Elerína. "You knew him as Gandalf."

"Gandalf!" cried Sam. "Now that's name I haven't heard in a quite a while. Well any friend of Frodo and Gandalf is forever welcome in my land - it still feels strange calling it that, Mayor or no. But I think you might find Bree more to your liking. If I'm wrong I beg your pardon Miss, but the two of you look like the sort who are looking for an adventure, and this is not a land with much use for swords."

Sam pointed to Thorongil's sword which hung by his side.

"That one there looks a match for old Gandalf's sword," he continued, marvelling at the countless jewels on the pommel and hilt. "And Aragorn's too; my, his was a sight to behold when he drew it."

Thorongil smiled and bowed. "I hope it can match their deeds, when the time comes."

"Well you certainly can't walk to Bree tonight," observed Sam. "There aren't many rooms furnished for folk your size in the Shire, but I keep a spare bed in Bag End for such an occasion. Speaking of walking, you might want to rent ponies for the trip…"

"We sent our horses meet us on the far side of your land," explained Thorongil.

"You sent your horses?" laughed Sam. "I do so love elves and your ways. I often forget that beasts understand your speech, and will do as they're told, too!"

Thorongil suddenly realized things like that, and other behaviors he was used to, would arouse suspicion among mortal kind. He would have to be more careful in the future.

"Well, it looks like rain may be coming," Sam went on, "so by your leave I think we should hurry home to Bag End! You should join Rosie and I for dinner tonight; she's making roast lamb and potato stew!"

Thorongil and Elerína gladly accepted the offer, and the feast was even better than advertised. Sam and Rosie were excellent chefs - as hobbits tend to be - and when they had visitors they spared no expense. Dinner at Bag End more than lived up to its reputation.

That evening the two maiar sat with the hobbits in parlour of Bag End. Elerína eagerly listened to endless Shire gossip. Thorongil was thoroughly uninterested, and stared off into space; or more accurately, time.

That night when Sam went to put out the fireplace, he found Thorongil standing in his parlour, staring intently at the mantle.

"Is there something up there?" he asked.

"Not anymore," answered Thorongil cryptically. "Not anymore…"

Elerína stepped up behind the Hobbit. "My husband has a … gift … that allows him to see things not as they are, but as they once were."

What Thorongil saw Sam couldn't guess; but Elerína could. He saw Sauron's Ring, and through the mists of time it gnawed at him - the greatest weapon of the Ages of the Sun now lost forever to the fires of Mount Doom. What a waste…


End file.
